


Intellectual Property

by sunryder



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Charles Is a Darling, Emma is a BAMF, Emotionally Crippled Erik Is Fun To Read, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunryder/pseuds/sunryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under no circumstances is Charles allowed to paint Mr. Lehnsherr. None. Emma doesn't care how darkly seductive the man is, or how he's the first thing Charles has wanted to paint in months. This is simply not allowed.</p><p>Of course, keeping Charles away from Lehnsherr would be simpler if Charles stopped sneaking around to see him... and if it didn't look like Lehnsherr was playing for keeps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A long-form (and really, it just keeps getting longer and longer) version of a one shot I wrote as part of my twelve days of Christmas. Heavily influenced by Girl With a Pearl Earring (meaning it's all about the tension).

Disgusted, Charles tossed aside his pencil and dropped his traitorous sketchbook to the ground, slouching back into his chair while he declared, "I think it's time I embrace that oldest and noblest of artistic traditions and become a raging alcoholic."

Emma smirked at him from her spot laid out on a thick wooden table Charles had pushed next to the row of gothic windows that made up the wall of his studio cum apartment. Emma had begun their session standing in a simple contrapposto, wrapped in nothing but a blood red sheet. Now she was spread out on the table's surface, one arm drooped over the edge and her pale skin drenched in the red of a dying sun. Really, the image was striking, and Charles was quite annoyed that nothing about it made him want to put pencil to paper. "Since you can't hold your liquor, I wouldn't recommend it." 

"I hold my liquor just fine, thank you."

The statement was ridiculous enough that Emma actually snorted, "Love, the last time I took you drinking you nearly let yourself be talked into designing an ad campaign for a soda company. I had to send the boys over to distract the head hunter who had you cornered just to save you from your weakness for women who look like they could take you over their knee."

"Considering that any semblance of talent I might have possessed has fled and left me to humiliation and ruin, I should've taken her up on her offer," Charles groaned. 

Emma had the gall to laugh at him and replied, "Don't be so dramatic. If you ever did anything so practical as an ad campaign you'd be dead of boredom within the month." 

Charles chucked at that, choosing to remember the way Sean had sidled up next to the woman and refused to be deterred from his terrible pick up lines, then Alex had strategically spilled a drink, and Armando had bundled the woman up and away to the other side of the bar as his way of apologizing for his roommates' idiocy. Though ridiculous, it was heartwarming, and a far better way to remember that night than the fight with Raven that had started the night's descent into drinking and practicality. 

"I might be dead of boredom Emma darling, but at least I'd have a reliable paycheck."

Emma flowed off the table and Charles lamented that the otherwise stunning sight of her floating toward him did absolutely nothing for his inspiration. She dropped into his lap and started running her slender fingers through his rumpled hair, "Get that ridiculous thought out of your head."

"The thought that perhaps it's time I settle into something far more practical with my life?"

At that Emma tugged harshly on Charles' curls and made him look at her rather than moping at the ceiling. "There is nothing wrong with your life, Charles." 

"Ems," he groaned, "I haven't created anything worth looking at in months, and I've burned my way through four sketchbooks trying to make something come unstuck, and it hasn't happened! I've wasted weeks people watching, I've gone to all my favorite museums, I've sat through art classes, I've pulled in all my models, and I even went to ground and spent a month back in London. And though it was a lovely vacation, my mother notwithstanding, I still have nothing clamoring around in my head demanding to be sketched."

Emma pulled him close to her, snuggling his face into the crook of her neck and asked, "What's got you so tied up in knots, sugar? Usually when someone tries to talk to you about a schedule you give them a lecture about the organic nature of art, something about inhabiting the space between light and dark, or rage and serenity, or something."

"Yes, I can tell from your joyous recitation that it must be an excellent speech."

"That doesn't tell me what's wrong." Charles grumbled something unintelligible in response until Emma yanked a little too roughly on his curls and made him answer properly. 

"You know how Logan, my main patron, insisted that start using a lawyer to arrange my business?"

"Ah, of course, the infamous Mr. Quested."

"Yes, well, apparently Logan and the rest of patrons were displeased with the way Mr. Quested was handling my business."

"Did that lout steal from you Charles?" Emma asked, just nonchalantly enough that anyone who knew her less well than Charles would assume she wasn't planning Quested's terrible and untimely demise. 

"No, he just... did as I asked, rather than as they asked."

Emma laughed, "What you mean to say is: he let you get away with ignoring commissions and indulging in a fit of artist's block, and they've decided to nip that in the bud by changing your lawyer."

"Yes." Charles moaned, burying his face back in Emma's neck.

"Have you had a meeting with your new keeper?"

"No, just a meeting with Logan. He gave me tea and a long lecture about profit margins and investments and how he was trying to save me from burning by the time I hit 35." 

"Ahh, and so you've been frantically scrambling to produce so you can prove to your keeper that you don't need supervision."

Charles flopped his head back and muttered, "Can you imagine how awful it would be? Weekly checkups, and telling me not to buy so much paint and, heaven forbid, what if he forces one of those infernal secretaries on me. Someone floating around, constantly in the background, trying to force me to be creative."

Emma smirked at him, but ran a petting hand through his hair anyway and asked, "So when is this meeting?"

"Three."

Emma paused, "Charles, love, you know that it's quarter to three right now, don't you?"

Charles lifted his head and stared at her, expecting the smirk that usually came when she was pulling his leg, but instead she shifted delicately off his lap, giving him space to twist around and check the clock. Charles burst out a colorful stream of curses before he leapt to his feet and went dashing around the apartment trying to find a pair of socks. "Charles! Aren't you going to put on a suit?"

"No time!" He called back, pausing just long enough to toss one of the offending sketchbooks into his messenger bag and dashed out the door with no regard to his ripped jeans, or the paint streaked across his forearms and t-shirt. Emma calmly walked to the door and lifted Charles' coat off the rack, reaching the door just in time for Charles to dart back in the room, grab his missing coat and drop a kiss on Emma's cheek with a quick, "Thanks, love" before he ran out the door once again. 

#######

Thanks to Emma, Charles was only five minutes late to his meeting with his new lawyer at Crane, Poole and Schmidt. Though judging by the way the secretary at the front desk stared at him like he was a madman when he told her he was late for a meeting with a Mr. Lehnsherr, Charles thought he wouldn't be forgiven for his tardiness. The girl (enormous eyes and a perfectly Roman nose that under more inspired circumstances Charles would've wanted to sketch just for the dichotomy of her features) immediately dialed Mr. Lehnsherr's secretary, telling him, "Your three o'clock is here, Hank." From the other end of the line he heard a young man sigh, "Oh thank heavens. I'll be there in a sec."

The girl hung up with a smile and Charles quirked an eyebrow at her, "So, this man is a bit of a terror?"

She pursed her lips and checked the lobby, making sure no one was there to overhear her comments and replied, "Mr. Lehnsherr is… intense."

Charles leaned over the desk with his most genial smile and replied, "I assume intense is your office euphemism for terrifying?" 

The girl looked ready to reply with more useful information that might save him some trouble when he finally met his attorney, but a sweet-faced boy with over-sized glasses popped up next to Charles and groaned at the sight of him. "He's going to kill us both."

"Why?"

"You're late, and you look like that. He'll never forgive you, and I'll yelled at for letting you in the office."

The boy, Hank he assumed, grabbed Charles by the wrist and pulled him through the sea of glass walls and over to a corner office. "We could just ignore the whole thing, you know," Charles pleaded, "and accept the fact that I don't actually need a lawyer." 

Hank crashed to a stop just outside a closed office door and twisted around to straighten Charles up before he summoned up the courage to knock. Hank pulled out a pack of wet wipes from his desk and shoved them into Charles' hands to clean up some of the paint, and lectured, "Don't say that you don't need him, it'll get ugly. Mr. Howlett, who is a very good client of Mr. Lehnsherr's, a client I think Lehnsherr might actually like as a human being, called him up and told him he'd be handling your affairs."

Charles smiled, "Yes, Logan is my patron."

Hank paused and stared at Charles like he had to be absolutely insane to speak of Logan with a smile, then plowed on, "Yes, well, Mr. Lehnsherr is not thrilled with this situation, if you poke him he'll get ugly, and on behalf of your patron and our favorite client, please keep this from getting ugly." Hank grabbed a passing clerk and pulled off his suit jacket, sending the boy off with a flick of his wrist and told Charles to take off his scraggly peacoat and put it on. Charles tossed the jacket on, ran fingers through his hair, and ignored the pained once over Hank gave him, before Hank knocked on the door and stuck his head in to announce, "Sir, Mr. Xavier is here." 

Mr. Lehnsherr muttered something that Charles could assume was foul, despite the fact he was fairly certain it was German. Hank stepped out of the way and ushered Charles in, mouthing 'good luck' to him as he went by. 

Charles stumbled past and started apologizing before he even made it through the door. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Lehnsherr. I got wrapped up in sketching and completely lost track off…" Charles looked up at his lawyer for the first time, and he just gaped.

Mr. Lehnsherr was striking. He was all sharp cheekbones and broad shoulders, and for the first time in months Charles actually had the desire to put pencil to paper to capture the tense line of the man, like a tiger about to pounce and rip his prey to pieces. Charles stood there for a few seconds, completely stunned, and all he could think was that Emma was going to laugh herself sick over this.

#######

Logan had strode into Erik's office just before lunch, wearing grubby jeans and military boots, ignoring every secretary and the scandalized looks from every client, coming in with nothing but a brown paper bag full of toasted sandwiches. He'd stepped in the door and tossed Erik one, then Logan put his feet up on the desk while he ate the other, completely ignoring decorum. Erik knew better than to ask questions when Logan turned up at his office unannounced, and started to eat his sandwich while he waited for Logan to decide if he was in the mood to talk, or just in the mood to damage the collective blood pressure of Erik's office. 

"Remember my will?" Logan asked with no warning. 

For a normal client Erik would say something sarcastic amount the number of wills he'd drafted in his time, but since it was Logan he went straight to the point Logan was shooting for, "You mean your mysterious heir, Charles Xavier?" 

"Yup. You're gonna meet with him today at three. He needs a lawyer."

"You're already leaving him your estate, why not let the boy get a lawyer of his own?" Erik challenged. 

"'Cause he thinks he doesn't need one."

"Yes, that's exactly the sort of client I like. One who thinks my excellent services are beneath them." 

Logan didn't bother rising to the bait and replied, "He's an idealist, and an artist, and if he doesn't have someone looking out for him then he'll get eaten alive."

"And that can't be you?"

"He thinks I'm fussing." Logan grumbled.

Erik stopped and just stared at Logan, baffled that the gruff man could ever be thought of as 'fussing'. Logan grunted at the implied question and explained, "I served with his father in the war. Man was an idealist, like his kid, but I liked him, still do even though he's been dead for years. He made me Charlie's godfather, and about a year after he died and his wife remarried I got a letter from Charlie asking me for advice." Logan paused, and Erik was interested enough to prod him, "Advice about what?"

"How to make his step father like him. How to make the man stop hitting him." Erik stiffened in disgust at the mention of abuse, but Logan went on. "I went to the house and… convinced the stepfather to never touch Charlie again. The boy spent as much time with me as I could manage in between my missions, and then he went to school young. He's got his father's mind, but instead of being a scientist, Charlie's an artist."

Erik stared at him for a moment, piecing it together before he concluded, "So basically you want me to manage the affairs of your starving artist godson."

"Charlie ain't starving. In his exhibition last year the reviewers started calling him a genius. He's brilliant, but he's got no head for business, just like his daddy. If I left it all up to him he'd go bankrupt in a year. He can make money, he's just a sucker for paying the way for other people, and giving away paintings to people who say they like them. He needs someone who'll keep him on track and make him marketable." 

"And that can't be you?"

Logan snorted, "I know Charlie. He'll think I'm exaggerating and ignore everything I say. But you, he'll think you're a terrifying suit I've hired to handle his affairs with an iron fist and he'll listen because I went to the trouble of involving someone else rather than saying it myself."

"That makes little to no sense."

"That's Charlie."

Erik had thought Logan was exaggerating his godson, but looking at the wide-eyed young man stumbling over his own two feet and into Erik's office, Logan's protests suddenly made more sense. The boy was staring at Erik like he'd been expecting some plump man soaked a fake tan, and he didn't know quite what to make of someone who looked at least as lethal as Logan. Xavier looked dangerously young, wrapped up in a too big jacket that Erik would bet good money that Hank stole from someone in the hall, and Erik couldn't stop a violent grin from spreading across his face. "May I assume that your sketching was so engrossing that you've got some new pieces for me to see?"

Xavier flushed and stammered out, "Well, no, not as such. No."

Erik waived the young man into a wingback chair opposite his desk that looked far more comfortable than it actually was. He failed to restrain a smirk when Xavier settled tentatively on the edge of the chair. Erik typically sat his clients down on the soft arm chair nearer the door while he took the sofa beside the wall, giving them the impression that they could easily turn and run from him if things got too intense. Usually it was only opposing counsel that Erik not-so-secretly wanted to crucify who were forced to sit in the awkward chair, but there was something viscerally appealing in putting Xavier in a spot where he had to stumble over himself to speak. 

Before Xavier could get control over his sentence Erik interrupted, "Has Mr. Howlett informed you about the extent of the services he has hired me to perform?"

Xavier flushed on 'services' but nodded his understanding. "He wants you to handle all the buying, and selling, and other practical matters so I can do what I do best, which is create," Xavier rattled it off like he was quoting a speech Logan had given him half a dozen times.

Erik gave Xavier his shark grin, enjoying the way the artist was staring at him like all he wanted was to pull out the sketchbook Erik could see poking out of his bag. "In the vaguest terms possible, yes. At some future point I'll be arranging your contracts for commissions and galley showings, and I'll be controlling the pricing on your products rather than letting your set those yourself." Xavier tried to interrupt, but Erik spoke straight over the top of him. "You deal in rare items, Mr. Xavier. If you continue to set such low prices then people will start to believe what you produce isn't high quality. A pricing increase is a necessity to your brand."

Xavier finally forced a word in edgewise and declared, "'Brand' doesn't quite suit what I do, Mr. Lehnsherr."

Erik smirked that Xavier still had the guts to disagree even after Erik had forced him into a disadvantage. "Perhaps not, but it does keep the meaning clear. It will also be in my sole discretion to find you an assistant to keep you on task and out of artist's block if I deem it necessary." Xavier puckered his nose in distaste, and Erik kept going, "However, I'm afraid all those modifications will have to come after I've seen the product that I'm dealing with."

"P-product?" Charles stuttered out, "Oh! You want to see what I've got in my studio?" Erik grunted in affirmation and Xavier rambled, "Well, you see, right now I don't really have-"

"I'm sure you have something worth seeing, Mr. Xavier." Erik paused just long enough to make the artist blush at his double meaning, "And if not, then I'll still know precisely where to start." Erik tapped a button on his phone and within a moment Hank stepped inside the room with blackberry in hand. "I believe I'm free to see your supply tomorrow afternoon, does that work for you Mr. Xavier?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, five thirty?"

"Well, I suppose-"

"Excellent. We can continue to discuss possible steps now if you'd like, but I'm afraid it will all be purely hypothetical until my visit."

Xavier flushed and gaped, trying to find any words at all and just stumbled, obviously desperate to get out of the room, "Tomorrow should be fine."

"If you'd like." Erik stood, unfolding himself slowly and enjoying the way he could see Xavier's eyes flicking over the subtle extension of muscle under his tailored suit. Erik stepped around, trailing his fingertips along the smooth surface of his well organized desk and stood too close to Xavier. "It's been a pleasure Mr. Xavier." The younger man just stared at Erik, like he was unsure whether he should lurch forward into Erik's chest or call Logan and complain.

Xavier murmured, "Likewise, Mr. Lehnsherr," before Hank ushered the befuddled young man out the door. The second the door shut behind Xavier, Erik spared a moment to listen to the faint sounds of Hank going through his standard post-first-time-alone-with-Lehnsherr protocols. He dropped back into his chair and dialed Logan's private line, the one to be used only in emergencies, and Logan answered on the third ring with a brusque, "Did you try and kill him?"

"No," Erik snorted, "We'll be fine. I've got one question though: would you have me disbarred if I sleep with him?"

"If I tell you yes?"

"Then I'll transfer all your files and his to another lawyer at the firm."

Logan snorted, "Big words for a man who won't be able to talk him into it."

"You don't think I can?"

"You're a suit. Charlie doesn't run with suits."

"Yes, but I'm a very handsome suit."

"Doesn't matter. The stepfather was a handsome suit, didn't change the fact that he destroyed Charlie's mother."

Erik leaned back in his chair at that unexpected piece of information, "His mother was an artist?"

"An actress. He won't trust you, and if he even thinks about it the rest of his artist buddies will form a little blockade around him to keep you the hell away." 

Erik kept his phone to his ear and stepped over to the corner window that had a clear view to the front hallway and watched Xavier with his bright smile and narrow waist chat with Hank on his way to the elevators. "He'll be worth the trouble."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks for all your wonderful reviews! They've been amazing!

After a late lunch with her agent Emma dropped by to check on Charles, and found him at his easel with Adele blaring and half an empty bottle of scotch. 

This was not a good sign.

Emma immediately removed the bottle to the liquor cabinet and demanded, "Have you eaten?" When Charles didn't even bother trying to protest the abduction of his bottle and just kept painting, Emma paused. The only time Charles was this quiet was when he was actually creating. Emma drifted back to see what Charles was painting on that easel, and she stopped breathing.

The painting was a small draft, focused in on the spiraling galaxy of of someone's eye. An observer who didn't know Charles well would've just see a swirl of greens and white, but Emma caught the horizontal curves of brown on the edges, framing in the iris, and the sharp edge of a nose. Only then did Emma notice the other painting drafts that Charles had already finished and laid out on the table to dry. More eyes, pulled back to show the tension lines around them and the shape of a cheekbone, several of a lean form in a determined yet sensuous movement, and one in particular that Emma had the sinking suspicion was a mouth. They were all done in thick lines and sharp color with no real details, like Charles didn't quite know what he should be thinking when he saw them, but he was sure in what he felt. 

"Charles," Emma interrupted, "who is he?"

Charles gave one final flick of his brush, a last fleck of light that softened the eye from hard to merely fierce. "My keeper."

Emma stared at him, her mind slowly clicking to catch up to the impossibility of his infatuation and Charles gave her a pained grin. "Now you understand why I need the scotch."

Emma immediately gathered up every last draft that featured the lawyer and stormed out the door and into the apartment across the hall. Armando was in the kitchen trying to find something to eat before he caved and ordered takeout anyway while Alex and Sean dueled one another on their game system. They all stopped moving at the bang of the door against the wall and Alex scrambled over the back of the couch, panicked that something was wrong with Charles. "Emma? What's up?" 

Emma handed over the stack of drafts and declared, "Hide these. No one is allowed to see them," and Alex scrambled to comply. She pulled a card out of her purse and held it out, "Sean, to the store. Food, snacks, drinks, absolutely no liquor." Sean bounded out the door with Alex on his heels, both of them recognizing Emma's emergency tone and not wasting time on questions. Armando waited until they were out of range before he quirked an eyebrow at Emma to ask what was wrong. "His inspiration is unacceptable," was all the answer Emma gave him before turning back to Charles' apartment. 

Emma waived Armando over to the couch where Charles was sprawled and proceeded to call/text/e-mail everyone who could make Charles smile and told them to come to his apartment bearing inspiration. Armando crouched down next to the couch and asked, "Why is Emma freaking out?" 

Charles huffed out a tired sigh, "I'm fascinated by my lawyer." 

Armando rocked back, "Aren't you banned from talking to suits after that whole Lillian debacle?"

"Let me tell you how happy I am that you all refer to my almost marriage as a debacle."

"Well, you told us we couldn't call it a shit show, and that's the only accurate term, so we had to pick something else."

Charles actually smiled at that one, willing to admit that his life decisions as far as Lillian was concerned weren't the best. "She was lovely though."

Armando snorted, "Since Alex isn't here, I feel it's my duty to remind you that unless 'lovely' is your code for 'manipulative bitch', you're remembering wrong." 

"It wasn't all bad."

"No, I'm sure the sex was great, but since she wanted you to give up your art and be a trophy husband, I don't think it was a worthy exchange." Charles didn't really have a defense for the whirlwind courtship and almost marriage to Lillian, so he let the argument go with, "What on earth is Emma doing?" 

"I think she's calling everyone you like and she doesn't want dead and inviting them over." 

Charles sat us, "What? No! I have to paint!" 

Emma snapped her phone shut, cutting off whoever was on the other end of the line and interrupted, "We know. but we refuse to let you be wrapped up in your lawyer. Everyone you adore is getting invited over and we'll be the ones to inspire you." 

"Honestly Emma, everyone I adore? You intend to invite Raven? And Logan? And Hank?"

Emma plucked Charles' phone off the counter and scrolled through his contacts. Charles lunged off the couch to take it back, but Armando snatched him out of the air mid-lunge and carried him protesting over to the stool. Emma quickly sent out a message and dropped the outdated phone back to the table. "There. Everyone who isn't your mother is invited." 

Charles groaned, "I'm going to paint something terrible about you." 

Emma sauntered over and dropped one perfect red kiss to Charles' forehead. "So long as its not about your lawyer."

#######

Charles' new drafts were a wash of bright red-orange, warm mud brown, and a honey gold. The figures were indistinct with the occasional jaw line or curve of a back, just enough to tell there were men dancing in the color. Charles pulled back from his paper, stretching out and turned to see his apartment was filled with loud people, a counter full of food, and Sean controlling the music. 

Alex popped up out of nowhere and grinned, "You're awake!"

Charles laughed, "I was painting Alex, not sleeping."

"You get all trance-like when you're really concentrating. It's like we're not even here." 

"And yet Emma felt the need to throw me a party." 

Alex clapped him on the shoulder, "Hey, you're painting something that doesn't make us all nervous. That means it wasn't a bad plan."

Charles had to laugh, warmed by the obvious concern over him. The earliest of Charles' years had been spent nurtured by his father, who, if he was disappointed by his son's decision to focus on the aesthetic beauty of things rather than the beauty of their genetic structure, never let it show. When Brian died, Cain gave Charles tutors to instruct him in the 'proper way of things' and Sharon withered away from the lively woman she had been and became a husk of former beauty. Charles could only imagine what sort of jaded creature he might have become, cut off from the world and from his art if Logan hadn't stepped in. Charles went to school, free to do what made him happy and free from Cain's influence, right up until Cain realized he could capitalize on Charles' excellent reputation. 

Cain had been the one to introduce Lillian to Charles at a family party, and that should've been Charles' first warning sign right there. Lillian had been a bright spot in an otherwise horrible summer, all honest and daring when Charles was surrounded by people who were anxiously waiting for him to come of age and gain access to his trust fund. But Lillian was unique, or appeared to be, and they were engaged within a month of their first meeting. Then slowly, ever so slowly, Charles started attending benefits, and parties, spending his time with people more worth his attention rather than with his sketchbook. Charles didn't know up from down by the time the wedding had come around, too swept up in a girl who said all the right things and the sudden rush of affection from his step-father. 

Logan, however, had no such problem. 

Charles had never wanted to know exactly what Logan did for a living, but apparently his skill set involved snatching Charles from his room in the middle of the night without waking either Charles or anyone else in the house. Logan wasn't one to mince his words, and he left Charles alone with a pot of tea and a stack of paperwork, all e-mails and transcriptions of conversations where Lillian showed her true colors. There had been drinking, and yelling, and some violent painting, but Charles ended the day free of his fiancé and in a new creative revolution.

Emma took care to tell the story of Charles and Lillian to everyone he trusted, re-issuing warnings about the former fiancé every six months when Charles was forced to see her again. (Raven had remained 'friends' with Lillian, and Charles was too good to tell either woman no.) Emma had instilled emergency protocols should Charles ever get caught paying another suit too much attention, though a party to distract him and remind him of what he should be inspired by was new to the list. 

Alex tossed an arm around Charles' shoulder, interrupting his reverie and dragged Charles over to the snack table. "Come on, Kitty brought cake!" 

#######

Hank was staring at his phone like he didn't quite know what was going on. Considering that Hank was accustomed to fielding angry messages that came for Erik in a strange blend of text and foreign languages, Hank looking confused was something to be noted. "You're furrowed, McCoy. Why are you furrowed?" 

"Umm…" Hank stared at his phone, grasping for words, then just handed it over. The message read, "Charles has been mind-frelled by his lawyer. Come to his flat bearing something inspirational to get the damn suit out of his head. -- Emma." 

"I don'y think she realized I work for you." Hank muttered, but Erik wasn't paying attention. Erik's smile was absolutely feral, and Hank recognized it the sort of smile Erik pulled when a case suddenly came together. "So, we're going to the party?" Hank asked.

"No, you're going." 

"And you're dropping by?"

"No." Erik forwarded the message on from the phone to the firm's private investigator, Azazel. Within two minutes the lanky Russian stepped into Erik's office and asked, "How much do you intend to spend?"

Erik snorted, "Don't insult me."

Hank leaned harder against the wall, fighting the urge to sneak out of the room. Azazel made him nervous; the man could find anything, and he and Erik always seemed to be having conversations on four different levels. (Which was probably the reason Azazel would always take Erik's call before any other lawyer in the firm.) Azazel grinned, "One of Charles' favorite artists has an exhibition going on. If you buy Charles' favorite it will impress his sister with its price, and his friends with your taste." 

Erik slouched back in his chair, taking a moment to balance pros and cons before he asked, "And what simple thing would Charles like, with no consideration for how it would look to everyone else?"

Azazel grinned like Erik had passed some test, and Hank realized that Azazel was friends with Charles' previous lawyer, and knowing Charles, Azazel had probably been befriended. "There's a lovely set of horsehair brushes at his favorite shop, but Charles refuses to buy them because the brushes he has work just fine."

Erik gave a sharp nod and sent Hank out with a credit card and orders to buy the brushes, and anything else the owner suggested that Charles had been denying himself. Hank nodded frantically, thrilled to be out of that conversation and actually excited to be attending the party. Azazel ignored Hank and kept staring at Erik while the other man rifled through papers on his desk and got back to work. Erik looked up just long enough to declare, "You can go," to Azazel, but the man kept watching. Erik let him stare for longer than he would let most people get away with before he finally snapped, "What?" 

Never one to be rushed, Azazel let the question hang for a moment before he grinned, "You like him."

"Of course I like him. I don't pursue people I hate." That, of course, didn't mean Erik didn't sleep with them.

"No, you like him in the way you like Howlett, or Shore. You find his presence enjoyable rather than annoying."

"So?" Erik snapped.

"You've known him a whole five minutes. Howlett had to punch him before you stopped hating him."

"Charles can't punch me, he'd break his hand." Azazel just grinned, the smile turning lecherous, but before he could comment Erik held up a hand and intervened, "I find him interesting. That is all."

Azazel just smiled and made a mental note to monitor this more closely than Erik's usual trysts. He nodded and promised, "I'll keep tabs on Hank and report Charles' response to your gift."

Erik grunted his thanks and asked, "What are you taking?"

"I am taking a bottle of vodka, and Janos is taking the last review of you that someone put in the bar journal." Erik quirked an eyebrow in surprise, and Azazel smirked, "He thought it might comfort Charles to know that although you're a bastard, you're terribly good at your job." 

"Somehow, I imagine that will make things worse."

#######

Charles was in the middle of a draft of his neighbor Marie, all delicious curves done in shades of green and gold, when Raven walked in. Charles failed to quite stifle his sigh. Marie had pulled up a stool next to Charles, quietly eating while Charles painted her, each of them using the other as a shield against dealing with everyone else. (Marie preferred to spend her time alone where she was spared the problems of people, and Charles, as much as he loved them, wasn't quite in the mood for the others.) Marie caught his sigh and looked up to see Raven float in, blonde hair done up in artful curls and her latest beau on her arm looking around the room like he was watching the animals at a zoo. 

"I'm surprised she didn't drop by tomorrow to take in the aftermath and scold you for partying when you should be working." Charles snorted, because honestly, it was what he'd expected as well. 

"Heaven forbid Raven should ever do what we expect of her." 

Marie snorted, "Never what we expect of her, of course. But always what Cain expects."

Charles slouched to the side and dropped his head to Marie's shoulder, watching as Emma all but slithered over to face Raven at the doorway. "It may be what Cain wants, but never imagine that Raven's ever done a thing against her will." 

Marie pressed closer to Charles, "I can't imagine how long that's taken you to be able to admit."

"One wretchedly long conversation with Logan, actually."

"Long?" 

"Logan is surprisingly amenable to sitting quietly while I yell at him."

Marie laughed quietly while Charles shifted to his feet and wrapped Raven up in a warm hug. "Hello darling, are you well?"

Raven smiled, open and warm and always so taken aback by Charles' gentle affection for her that she couldn't stop herself from being honest for a moment. But by the time Charles released her she had her game face back on. "You saw me just last week, Charles."

"Brother's preogative to fret about you any time you're not in my sight." Charles smiled and stretched out his hand to the man beside his sister and politely introduced himself despite the man's obvious distaste. "Hello, I'm Charles Xavier."

"Yes, I know."

Marie fought the urge to roll her eyes and instead stepped between the man and Charles, saying, "Come with me sugar, and we'll leave the siblings to chat." He tried to object, but under Marie's southern charm was a core of steel, and before he could properly formulate an objection the man was halfway across the room. 

Raven smirked, "Never let it be said your friends are subtle." 

"Life is too short for subtlety my dear." 

Raven was far too refined to snort, but Charles knew she wanted to. "Is that why they're all so frantic to make you create something? An unsubtle gesture to Logan that a keeper is unnecessary?"

"Heaven forbid that Logan accept that I'm a grown man."

"Charles," Raven scolded, "Logan won't believe that until you start behaving like one."

"Raven-" Charles tried to stop her, but she continued, "No Charles, you don't. You act as though money doesn't matter, as though your world is always going to be this little commune, insulated from the concerns of real life." 

There were several spiteful things Charles wanted to say to that, but for the sake of peace he kept his mouth shut. "And I suppose you have a plan to involve me in real life?"

Raven knew him well enough to know that Charles had bit his tongue and kept quiet about something, which only harshened her reply, "I think increasing your output is an excellent start."

"Which is, of course, why you're here." 

"Precisely." Something flinched inside Charles and he knew there was detail she wasn't telling him, which was the precisely the moment a loud voice declared, "Cher!" from the doorway.

"What is Remy doing here?" Charles hissed at her.

Raven gave him the same look she'd always given him when he was saying something she found ridiculous, "He's here because when Remy is your model you always produce something."

"You mean I always create something after I sleep with him!"

"And what's wrong with that?"

"It's Remy!" 

"You're repeating yourself." Raven tossed up a hand, "Remy! Over here!" 

Charles hissed something unforgivably crass under his breath, but the damage was already done and Remy was plastered far too close to his side. "Hello, cher." 

Charles tried to step back out of Remy's grip, but he just tightened his hold on Charles' waist. "Remy, now is not the time." 

Remy nuzzled closer, hot breath caressing Charles' ear while he whispered, "It's always the time, cher. And don't you want to see how Raven's lump of a boyfriend is going to react?"

"You mean the lump of a boyfriend who's chatting up Marie?"

Remy released Charles instantly, twisting around trying to spot Marie. "I'll end him."

"You know, I don't think you can be upset with her when not five seconds ago you were trying to get into my pants." 

"Ah cher, don't be hurt. I don't think there's a one of us who wouldn't take you to bed if you offered, me and Marie included." Charles waived the man away, wishing him luck in his endless pursuit of Marie. (He'd apologize to Marie later for foisting Remy off on her.) Charles dropped back to his stool and was torn between being grateful that Emma seemed to have consumed all of Raven's attention, or nervous about the inevitable fight between them to come. To the soundtrack of their snide comments Charles focused on his paper and painted two winged valkyries squaring off, lost in an exploding sea of red against white. 

Charles went on like that, quietly painting while his sisters (both literal and metaphorical) squared off against one another until a breathy, "Wow," interrupted him.

Charles looked up, ignoring the shouting match going on on the other side of the room, "Hank! I wasn't expecting you to come." 

The young man blushed charmingly and Charles filed away that mental image for later painting. "I got a text from a woman named Emma, and I don't think she intended to invite me, but…"

"Nonsense! It's wonderful!" Charles put a hand to Hank's back to guide him, "Come, let me introduce you to some people." 

Hank grinned, "That would be w-wonderful." Hank's gaze caught on one of the other guests, Charles didn't catch who, and he stuttered to a stop. "But I should give you the presents first."

"Honestly, you didn't need to bring me anything." Charles demurred.

"No, the message clearly said that we were supposed to bring you something to inspire you." Charles grinned at Hank's determined tone and replied, "If you'd like."

Hank had a sketchbook and a parcel in his hand, but he froze, unsure about precisely how to proceed. Charles just smiled at him, and Hank stiffened his shoulders and handed over the sketchbook first. "The shopkeeper said it was your favorite kind of book. Oh! And he told me to tell you that he'll be by later, but he's stuck at work for now." 

"It's wonderful, Hank. Especially since I'm rapidly running out of paper. But, how did you know which shop I go to?"

Hank blushed and with shaking hands handed over the parcel wrapped in brown paper. "Mr. Lehnsherr is very good at his job."

Charles paused just before touching the package, then very gently took it in his hands and stepped over to a side table clean of the detritus of the party and set it down. Charles stared at the package for a long moment before he ever so gently undid the twine and slid his fingers under the tape. Hank could feel the shift in the room when a quirk of Azazel's grin told all those in the know who Hank was there representing and who the package was from. He vaguely heard Emma hiss something under her breath and Raven retort with something in defense of suits, but Hank was too busy watching Charles stroke the wood of the unwrapped box. 

"Azazel, did you…" Charles asked without looking up from the box.

"I told him the shop. He made the choice himself. I told him to buy you a paining."

Charles spared a moment to grin, Azazel had probably told Lehnsherr to buy him a whole gallery. Charles cracked the top of the box and stifled the urge to gasp. It was a perfect collection of brushes, all beautifully made, and the thought of painting with them made Charles' breath catch in his chest. 

They were perfect.

Across the room Emma watched Charles' reaction, then leaned against Armando and murmured, "This might be harder to stop than we thought."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been over a week since I last posted, and I'm ashamed of that. I've written this chapter literally four times and every time I finished and absolutely hated it. I'm not thrilled with how this chapter turned out, but it's time to move on.

The day after the party Marie roamed back to Charles' apartment an hour before his keeper was due to arrive, and the moment Marie stepped in the apartment she nearly had a panic attack on his behalf. 

Charles was still hunched over at his easel, and he looked as though he hadn't moved from that very spot since the night before. For the most part the apartment looked like people had tidied up after themselves before leaving, but Charles looked like a wreak. Marie had come so late in the day because she assumed Charles and his anal retentive organizational skills would be prepared for Lehnsherr's arrival and the paint would've already moved on to panicking. 

"Charles!" Marie shouted, and Charles nearly fell off his stool in shock at the noise.

He twisted around and gaped, "Marie! You startled me!"

Marie shucked her coat and dropped it onto the nearby couch, "Charles, what time is it?"

It was a testament to Charles' exhaustion that he turned to look out the window to gage the hour rather than looking to one of the room's many clocks. Charles just stared for a moment at the full sun coming through his western facing windows and muttered, "Apparently much later than I thought."

Marie just snorted and started trying to re-establish some sense of order to the piles of drafts spread throughout the apartment. "Go. Shower and shave while I make you some tea."

Charles just stared at her wide-eyed, like his brain hadn't quite caught up with her voice. Eventually he stumbled up from his stool and whined, "Can't I just phone Hank and tell him that Lehnsherr can't come today?"

"You think that will work?"

Charles hunched over, "No. He'd probably just turn up all the sooner to irritate me."

Poor Charles looked so dejected at the notion that Marie wrapped her arm around his shoulders and guided him over to the stairs that led up to his bedroom and bathroom. "I'll take care of the prep work, you just go make yourself look a little less like you need to sleep for two days straight."

"I'm fairly certain the only thing that will fix me is actually sleeping for two days straight," Charles rejoined while he climbed the stairs. 

"Actually, I'm positive Emma has given you a cream to take care that." Marie snarked back. 

Marie turned back to the main body of the apartment, grateful that at least that the other guests had packed up all the food and left her with less to worry about. Unlike the others, Marie had herself been subjected to the whims of a keeper. A man who had plied her exercises and 'inspirational materials' in an effort to force her through her writer's block and back into creativity. Part of the keeper's playbook involved always trying to force the artist outside their comfort zone in an effort to knock something loose, and the easiest way to do that was to invade their space while they were unprepared. 

Translation: Lehnsherr was going to turn up early. 

Marie opened a few of the windows, airing out the stale smell of too many people then took a quick vacuum to the floor, and when she finally heard the shower upstairs turn off, she put the kettle on. Since Charles would be down momentarily she stepped over to the piles of rough drafts and began trying to put them in some semblance of an order. Or at least, she intended to work on them, but the draft still on Charles' easel -- the one that he'd been working on when she arrived -- demanded her attention.

From what Marie could see of the other paintings, last night Charles had been wrapped up in trying to capture the essence of his friends in no more than a hodgepodge of colors and vague details. The few painting she'd seen were striking in their simplicity, and Marie had been comforted by the true and gentle way that Charles saw them all. However, Charles seemed to have taken a dark turn after they all left him for the night. 

This last painting was a blur of two shades of red, close but just different enough that to an eye trained in Charles you could tell that there were meant to be two separate figures bound up in one another. In the background Marie could see the hint of broad shoulders and the shape of a man's eyes, but the figure in the foreground dominated the scene, and dominated the male she was wrapped around. It was only the slenderness of the front figure and the faint curve of a breast that told Marie it was a woman, because the fierce angles of her were enough to make the figure almost inhuman. The female was all but enveloping the male, swallowing any clear sight of him and giving off the impression that she was set on devouring him whole. 

Marie knew that Scott Summers had perfectly rational reasons for crossing the country and leaving them all to be with his fiancé, but the regretful ache that Charles had painted here for the man and his choices was enough to make Marie hate Scott in that moment. The two men had been best friends since before they could properly remember, and though Charles, being Charles, couldn't summon up the will to be angry with him for leaving, he could still feel for Scott when each letter back to them grew more and more lifeless.

The knock on Charles' door startled her out of her mulling, and she supposed she ought to give Lehnsherr credit for only being half an hour early to the arranged meeting. Marie could hear Charles shuffling slowly around upstairs and decided to handle the new keeper. Marie tossed open the door, taking in the man's slight surprise at her presence, but he quickly recovered. "Hello, I'm Erik Lehnsherr, I'm here to see Mr. Xavier." he gave her a smile at that, patently false, but charming nonetheless.

"If you're half as good as your predecessor, you already know who I am."

Lehnsherr smiled again, slightly less false, "True, but I've been told it's in bad taste to admit that."

Marie gave a him a slow once over, taking in the smooth fit of his fine suit and the way he managed to look comfortable in it despite the face she was almost positive he secretly preferred something simpler. "You don't strike me as the sort of man who cares about taste."

Lehnsherr's smile devolved into a full on smirk, "No taste other than my own."

Marie leaned against the doorframe, deliberately giving Lehnsherr a clear view of the stairs that Charles and his shuffling feet were about to come down. "And Charles and his… art are to your taste?"

Lehsherr didn't answer her, just smiled a little more fiercely, and Marie admitted that although the man wasn't quite to her tastes, she could easily see why sweet Charles had gotten swept up by him. Now, of course, was the time to see whether or not the man had been swept up by Charles in return. Charles stumbled down the stairs in a clamor, groaning, "Marie, can't I just go to bed?"

Marie guessed that behind her Charles was probably rubbing his eyes, which looked all the more luminously blue because of of his pale exhaustion. His hair would still be wet, tangled in a riotous halo of curls, and his clothes, though ill fitting, would cling slightly to his lean frame because of he was still damp from the shower. However, all this was strictly assumption because she kept her focus on the man in front of her, taking in Lehsherr's reaction to Charles. Marie had been expecting at least a flare of lust, at most a nearly feral grin, but to her eternal surprise, that's not what she got.

Lehnsherr looked up at Charles with something approaching tenderness. His whole face softened, the fierce lines of him gentling, and the corners of his mouth turning up in a soft smile. There was still a moment of lust when his breath caught at how deliciously rumpled Charles was, but it was secondary to the simple pleasure of seeing him at all. Lehnsherr quickly reassumed his habitual smirk, but Marie the shift had already been catalogued.

Marie turned to look at Charles, who was just as charmingly pink and rumpled as she had imagined, "I'll leave you two to your business." Charles didn't even notice that she'd spoken. Marie smirked and moved out the door, pausing ever so slightly beside Lehnsherr to murmur, "You have twenty minutes before the cavalry arrives. Make good use of it because they'll probably never leave you alone with him again," before she strode out the door, smiling to herself.

#######

Charles tugged down on his ratty Oxford t-shirt, trying in vain to make himself look more presentable in the face of Mr. Lehnsherr and the man's perfectly pressed, steel gray suit. "I'm glad to see your friends didn't manage to exorcise me completely, Mr. Xavier." Mr. Lehnsherr interrupted Charles' thoughts. 

Charles blushed all the harder, "Emma is rather overprotective."

Mr. Lehnsherr smirked again, "Is that what they're calling it now?"

Charles nearly dashed from the stairs to the kitchen, thankful that the whistling kettle gave him the chance to avoid Mr. Lehnsherr's rather burning gaze. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, thank you. Though I'd like to hear about your Emma even more."

"She's not my Emma." Charles muttered and opened the corner cupboard dedicated solely to tea. (Charles had never intended to be an adventurous in his tea choices, but it seemed to be the only thing people could think of to get him for holidays. Last night alone he'd gotten three new boxes.) "Those are your choices, which would you like?"

Lehnsherr didn't respond, so Charles turned to ask again and jumped at how perilously close the man was to Charles' side. Charles tilted his head back to look up at the Lehnsherr, unconsciously exposing the smooth line of his throat. Erik noticed though, and gave Charles a smile with far too many teeth as he replied, "I'll let you choose so you don't have the chance to avoid my question."

"I'm not avoiding anything." Charles retorted, quite undercutting his argument by stepping away from the rather daunting breadth of Lehnsherr's chest. 

"I've seen pictures of your Emma Frost, including several that you drew yourself. She's quite stunning."

Charles ignored the how his flare of jealousy at Lehnsherr noticing Emma's rather obvious assets overcame any possible thoughts of the striking beauty that would be Lehnsherr and Emma wrapped around one another. (Though it probably wouldn't be quite so much beauttiful as it would be violent. And just the thought of any energy in their encounter made his stomach churn.) "She's my friend and a favorite model, stunning doesn't factor into the relationship."

"You don't care about the aesthetics of your models?" Lehnsherr asked while leaning against the counter and doing a terrible job of pretending like every muscle wasn't coiled and ready to pounce. 

Charles pulled out his favorite tin of assam tea and dropped a pouch each into the waiting mugs, determinedly not looking at Lehnsherr and trying not to feel like a kitten who'd foolishly turned it's back on a wolf. "The beauty in a model is in their uniqueness, not in their features."

"I was under the impression that beauty actually comes from symmetrical features and proper proportions."

Charles couldn't help his hesitant smile that Lehnsherr knew that much at all. "If you're going for the Classical notion of beauty then yes, there are proper proportions involved." 

"And you don't care for Classicism?" Lensherr asked with a gentle blend of teasing and genuine curiosity. 

"No!" Charles turned haphazardly while still pouring water from his kettle, "As a matter of fact I adore the classics. Especially the sculptors. I have no talent for sculpting, so when I see what lifelike creations they were able to pull out of hunks of marble, it astounds me." 

Lehnsherr stepped forward and retrieved the kettle from Charles' gesturing hand and poured the water himself. "So, you idolize the Classics but don't practice them yourself?"

"Not at all. I was classically trained, so I'm more than capable of adhering to their techniques, I just prefer to paint whatever the situation calls for." Lehnsherr moved gracefully around the kitchen opening cupboards while Charles defended himself. "There are certain paintings, certain subjects, that call for a degree of realism, while others need something else. Like right now, the paintings I'm working on need less facts and more emotion, so I've done them with less detail but more color."

Lehnsherr 'hmm-ed' in interest while he finally found the sugar and then moved to the fridge and pulled out the milk for their tea. Charles bounded over to the table where Marie had attempted to organize his drafts and grabbed one from off the top as an example. "See, here! I could paint Emma a hundred times just as she is, but none of those would quite capture the fierceness of her."

"Milk or sugar?"

"Just a dash of milk, please. And the white! The shade of it is sharp and prickly, but not cold. It's pretending it's cold, just like Emma, but it's not really." 

Lehnsherr tugged the draft out of Charles' hand and replaced it with a steaming fresh cup of tea, which Charles took a quick sip from while Lehnsherr interjected, "Wikipedia tells me that you change styles at random, doing whatever suits your taste at the moment."

Charles 'humphed', "And did the internet tell you all the reasons that's terrible behavior on my part?"

"Mr. Xavier, I'm not positive how it works in the art world, but for the rest of us, when you produce something this good," he held up the draft, "no one else's opinion matters." Charles plucked the paper back out of Lehnsherr's hand, tutting something about lying lawyers, but despite the retort Charles blushed from the praise. 

Lehnsherr leaned a little closer, "Now Mr. Xavier, you can give me a lecture on all the paintings I can see on that table over there, or you can come with me to dinner and attempt to explain to me the intricacies of art. I won't understand them, but I rather like listening to you talk."

Charles just stared at him, torn between smiling and gawking at the oddly affectionate statement from such a posh man who somehow seemed so comfortable in Charles' haphazard little flat, but when Charles opened his mouth to reply, a yawn interrupted him. Charles gave him a rueful smile, "How about breakfast instead?"

Lehnsherr quirked an eyebrow and Charles erupted into a bright red blush. "I, I, uh, that came out wrong."

Lehnsherr just smirked, "I certainly have no objections."

"You will when I fall asleep halfway through."

Lehsherr's eyebrow went higher and Charles stammered out, "Stop that! You know what I mean." 

Lehnsherr laughed at that, legitimately and unexpectedly laughed, and Charles couldn't help his own bright smile at the sound. Lehnsherr gathered up the mugs and put them in the dishwasher while he replied, "Off to bed with you then, Mr. Xavier."

Charles knew it was ridiculous of him to want to make Lehnsherr stay, but he couldn't help himself. "But you came all this way to see my progress. You should at least get what you came for before I throw you out in favor of a pillow."

Lehnsherr paused for a moment before replying, "I would like the record to reflect that you just set me up for at least four lecherous responses to that, and I refrained from them all out of respect for your exhaustion." 

Charles blushed again, "Does it count as restraint when you tell me you were tempted?"

"I certainly hope so, otherwise I've wasted an opportunity." Charles tried not to smile and encourage him, but there was no defense against it when Lehnsherr looked so pleased with himself. 

"Well, I suppose I could let you share one of the thoughts, only the least lecherous of them mind you."

Lehnsherr didn't take his eyes of Charles as he pulled out his phone and clicked through to the last number he'd called. Lehnsherr wasn't smiling anymore, just thoughtful and focused, and Charles bit back on the desire to fidget and somehow break that direct gaze. The phone clicked through and Charles heard the faint echo of a crowd in the background before Lehnsherr said, "This is Erik Lehsherr, I have a reservation for two for eight o'clock that I need to cancel." He paused while whoever it was on the other end simpered at him and Charles couldn't quite breathe, though he wasn't sure if it was about the planning that Lehnsherr had gone to, or hearing Lehnsherr's deep grumble of a voice actually use his own first name. 

"However, I'm told your brunch menu is lovely." There was some more simpering and Lehnsherr quirked an eyebrow at Charles while he asked, "What time would I like?" Charles shrugged, incapable of articulating anything beyond a whimper at this point, which really wouldn't help the plan to not get emotionally attached to Lehnsherr, since Charles was almost positive that that noise would snap whatever control the man had left. "Nine o'clock. Preferably at a table away from any small children."

Lehnsherr hung up and dropped his phone in his pocket, and the two men stared at one another, just far enough apart to be out of a range where they were tempted to touch. "You should get to bed before your friends turn up and start interrogating the both of us like teenagers."

"Yes, that's probably best." Charles forced himself to walk to the door, suppressing the urge to tremble when Lehnsherr brushed too close to him. They both stood there for a moment before Charles came back to himself and realized he'd have to step back to pull the door open. "So, I'll see you in the morning?"

Lehnsherr leaned forward and pressed his lips close to Charles' ear, just near enough that the heat from his breath gave the illusion of touch and whispered, "Definitely. And I promise, sleep will be the last thing on your mind."


	4. Chapter 4

Erik was was fairly certain that Charles was secretly trying to get him killed by Logan. 

First, the artist had slept through his alarm, answering the door all warm and soft from sleep, and giving Erik a genuine smile like Charles was actually pleased to see him. Erik had to fight back the urge to toss the man over his shoulder and carry him right back up those stairs. But Charles was interesting, and he'd already proved himself worth more than a one-morning-stand. 

The day only got worse as Charles tossed on something rumpled and went with Erik to breakfast at one of the city's best restaurants, where Charles was so charming that no one grimaced at the truly foul cardigan he was wearing. Through the morning they'd discussed Charles' creative process, his friends, what exactly it was that Erik did for a living, and then somehow (Erik still wasn't precisely sure how) Erik's intent to drop Charles off after breakfast and leave the man wanting more got transformed into a long walk, then a matinee at Erik's favorite play (a whole art form Erik had never admitted to enjoying to someone he wanted to sleep with), then a late lunch, and now Erik found himself dragged to a gallery showing by Charles' favorite photographer, and Charles had declared when they were done here he knew precisely the place they should go for dinner. 

Their flirtation had pressed on smoothly, not at all worn out by the constant presence. of one another. Knees had bumped under the table at every meal, elbows bumped while they walked, their forearms had been pressed together through the whole of the play, and Erik had taken to subtle guiding touches at the small of Charles' back. But still, they were both dancing around actual touch, skin to skin, in the name of building tension. 

Erik's whole day had been consumed by a dance with this floppy-haired little artist, and worst of all, Erik didn't seem to mind. 

The second Charles had entered the gallery for the photography display a chunk of other artists had glommed on to him, and were now dragging him from photo to photo demanding his expert opinion on the tone and composition, while the actual photographer -- an ex-solider named Steve Rogers -- trailed after them and grinned at Charles' discomfort. Erik found he wasn't in the mood to watch Charles be fawned over by little hipsters and made his own way through the gallery. 

The whole showing was photos of people, each subject in an action portrait where they did what they did best. Rogers had caught a sniper shooting practice rounds, perfect for all the movement you could see restrained, a drill sergeant screaming at someone, spittle flying in an explosion from a wide open mouth, and a young soldier, barely eighteen, laughing brightly while he played soccer with refugee children. As you went deeper into the room the subject matter slowly changed, starting with soldiers doing civilian things, and then becoming purely civilian. The exhibit felt like like Rogers had been trying to adjust to coming all the way home. 

At the very end of the space, the culmination of the whole journey, there was a triptych of photos about really being home. On the right was Tony Stark at his computer, (which was a very long story that Erik was going to have to demand from Charles). Stark was leaning over a computer table, frantically typing something into the surface and obviously refusing to hold still for the photo, showing just the slightest blur to his forearms while he kept typing. Stark's hair was a mess, he was wearing sweatpants, and the button down shirt he was wearing looked like it had been plucked off the floor in a rush while he dashed to his computer to get something down before inspiration left him. Despite the lack of skin showing, the whole image was honestly intimate, but restrained enough that Stark's PR department wouldn't have too much trouble.

The photo in the middle was surprisingly simple despite all its moving parts. Men and women of varying ages all scattered around a living room, in various states of motion and conversation. Some soldiers, others obviously civilians, and all used to Rogers snapping their photos. Erik assumed it was some sort of 'welcome home' party for Rogers when he made it back from his last tour, but there was no real way to tell.

On the left was Erik's favorite: a photo of Charles, peering around the edge of his easel to check on the status of his subject while he painted. He was rumpled in a way that under normal circumstances would make Erik jealous about what had been going on in the prior frames, but Erik was beginning to accept that was just Charles' natural state of being. The light coming from the windows behind Charles and the exposure on the photo made him look angelic, and his eyes glow pre naturally blue. Erik made a goal to see Charles like that himself one day, all still and intense from painting him. 

A smooth hand slipped into Erik's and Charles' voice whispered, "I was mortified when Steve said he wanted to put a photo of me in his show."

Erik took far too long a moment to reorganize his thoughts and overcome his autonomic response at Charles' slight hand in his own. He couldn't quite process that Charles didn't seem to care about the teasing and tension that had been the rule between them thus far and had reached out to touch Erik with absolutely no fear. The press of Charles' skin to his own for the first time was enough to overload his senses and all Erik could come up with to reply was, "You shouldn't have been."

"I admit the lighting is fantastic, glowing without looking washed out or ridiculous, but I look like a turtle."

Erik just stared at the man in front of him and blinked silently for a moment before he stumbled out, "A turtle?"

"Yes! A little turtle peeking it's head out of his shell."

"I take back everything kind I ever said about your taste Charles, you're obviously faking to get dates."

Charles rolled his eyes and whatever tension he might have had at touching Erik seeped away. "You have to admit, it's not a particularly flattering pose. Though Steve has tried time and again to explain to me that photography is more about the realism of the moment then it is about beauty, but-"

"You're beautiful." Erik said before he could stop himself. And heaven help him, he actually blushed when Charles' eyes grew wide at the words. Charles looked as though he wasn't quite sure if Erik was teasing him or not, so Erik pressed on. "You are beautiful, Charles. There's no pose or place Rogers could put you in where you wouldn't be."

Charles flushed, not nearly as dramatic as all those times when Erik had teased him into it, but all the more perfect because Charles was pleased with him. Charles didn't say anything, just pressed a little closer so Erik could feel the warmth of him despite layers of clothes. When Erik didn't pull back, but didn't press forward, Charles sucked on his lower lip, deepening an already sinful red and flicked his gaze down to Erik's lips for just a moment before Charles summoned his courage and tilted his head back, pressing himself up to Erik's height. 

For one perfect moment Erik thought he was actually going to get to kiss Charles, and then a sharp voice interrupted, "Charles! So lovely to see you."

Charles clenched Erik's hand reflexively at the noise, and only Erik saw the pained way Charles' eyes tightened at the sound. Erik brushed his thumb along the back of Charles' hand and ignored the way Charles tried to pull away as he turned around and saw his sister glower at them and his ex-fiancé look amused. Erik spared a silent moment to thank Azazel for his obsessive thoroughness in explaining Charles' background, otherwise Erik would've met these two pretty women with a territorial sneer rather than a passive smirk. 

"Raven, you make it sound like you haven't seen me in months." Charles replied. 

"I can hardly count a party thrown by Emma as actually seeing you, Charles."

"Oh really Charles," Lillian tagged on, scolding, "Emma?" Charles clenched Erik's hand again, like the mere sound of Lillian's voice was giving him fits. Erik tried not to feel pleased and territorial that Charles was relying on him for comfort rather than trying to scamper away. 

Erik gave Charles' hand the slightest of shakes to nudge him along and Charles stumbled out, "Oh yes, of course! Erik Lehnsherr, this is my sister Raven Xavier, and a friend of the family Lillian Neramani." Lillian just cocked an eyebrow while Raven actually looked offended that they had been introduced to Erik like he was the most important person in the conversation rather than Erik introduced to them. 

Erik bestowed the women with the most intimidating, but genial, of his smiles (the one he used for opposing counsel's clients) and bid them hello before Charles slowly started edging away from the women. "Well, it's been lovely to see you both, but-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Charles." Raven interrupted, looming forward with the sharp clack of high heels. "We have to at least exchange a word or two." Raven twisted her arm through Charles' and sunk her finely manicured nails into his biceps while she pulled him off down a back hall. Charles cast a look back at Erik that was simultaneously desperate and resigned before he mouthed, 'three minutes'. Erik gave Charles a sharp nod in support then turned his attention back to Lillian, who was watching Erik with an amused eyebrow. 

"I'll give this to Charles, you're quite nice to look at." 

Erik couldn't quite help his snide and defensive response, "Considering that Charles has such lovely people to look at as part of his profession, I don't think it crossed his mind when choose a lover."

Lillian smirked, "You honestly think he chose you for something other than your beauty?" She shifted her stance ever so slightly to show off her curves and gave Erik a look that meant, 'You think he didn't notice I was stunning when he proposed?'

"I think Charles has learned to make better decisions than that." 

Lillian pursed her lips ever so slightly at the slight, but pressed on without comment. "And what is it you do, Mr. Lehnsherr?"

"I'm a lawyer." Lillian puckered her nose like Erik had just declared he was a third world dictator. "Something wrong?"

"Not at all, I just assumed if Charles were to try his hand at a relationship again he would turn to one of his fellow artists."

Erik smirked at her for assuming that all her posh parties had given her the skill to outtalk him. "Charles likes to go where his instincts guide him, no matter where that may be."

"You're saying that Charles' response to you was… instinctual?" she replied, managing to make the question sound terribly lecherous. Unintimidated, Erik released his most feral grin and replied, "I certainly hope so."

Before Lillian had the chance to respond with anything more cutting, Erik's internal timer went off and gave her a sharp nod of dismissal and headed for the dark corner where Charles was busy regretting his mother's second marriage. Raven had Charles backed up against a wall and judging by the way Charles looked like he wanted to melt through that wall and run away, she was ranting. 

"Charles, there you are!" Erik put a steady arm around Charles' shoulder, putting himself firmly between Charles and his sister. "We have to get going or we'll miss our reservations."

Raven clamped her hand around Charles' arm again, locking him in place, "I'm sure you can push things back for his sister."

Erik laughed like she was making a joke and replied, "Actually, the restaurant insists that if Charles and I are late again they're going to refuse to give him desert as punishment." 

Charles squeaked at the lie, like he didn't know whether to scold Erik for lying or try and help. After a pause he stumbled out a passable attempt at lying, "Not the bread pudding!"

Erik grinned, "Exactly. He said that he's tried every other threat on you so he's decided to get mean." 

Raven quirked an eyebrow, "I was under the impression that you two met on Thursday."

Erik's smile turned confidential, "Thursday was when Emma found out about me."

Raven stared at Erik and his pleased smirk, then turned to Charles in disbelief. "What? You dated someone without telling Emma?"

Charles blushed at the lie, but bit his lip to keep from responding and giving them away. Erik had no such compunction and said, "In Charles' defense, he didn't realize we were dating until after the fifth time we went out."

Raven gave a sudden laugh at that, not quite stopping herself from showing approval in time. She straightened out her expression and said, "That does sound like Charles."

"The wait staff at the restaurant was convinced that Charles was stringing me along, being late all the time, and not taking any of the openings I gave him."

"So they put down the law on your behalf." 

Erik's smile was very nearly genuine, and Charles loved the sight of it so much that he wrapped his arm around Erik's waist and tugged the man flush against his side. Erik looked down at him in surprise at the motion, and his smile turned all the way honest. The two of them stared at one another for far too long, caught up the affection of the moment until Erik finally looked away and Raven's gaze was flicking back and forth between the two of them, obviously surprised at the moment. Despite that, Raven wasn't the sort of girl who would let them off that simply. 

"And what restaurant was this?"

Erik smirked, completely aware that Raven was trying to catch him in a lie, assuming that if she pushed, Erik would be just as terrible at lying as Charles. "Zigeuner."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"The name of the restaurant is Zigeuner."

"And what sort of name is that? German?"

Erik gave her a smile that she took to mean 'since you're Charles' sister I'll let that go', "It is. The German word for Gypsy."

"Gypsy. As in caravans, fortune telling, all that?"

"Something along those lines." Erik didn't want this conversation to get any more personal while they were with Raven, but Charles' warm eyes staring at up him would be enough to snap his refusal and make Erik spill everything. Somehow Erik could see Charles understanding everything, and that made it all the more tempting to tell him. Erik pulled Charles closer and said, "Now, we've got to be on our way or Charles will be subjected to a German scolding the likes of which make even me feel like I'm seven years old again."

Charles laughed and darted forward to drop a kiss on his sister's cheek before snuggling right back next to Erik and pulling him along to the door, and Raven was too thrown by the whole situation to protest. Erik leaned in slightly to ask, "Do you need to speak to Rogers?"

"He'll understand when I tell him that I was escaping Raven. Then he'll find out about Lillian, then tell Tony, and somehow Lillian's family will take some catastrophic financial or social hit." 

"Yeah, about that, Tony?"

Charles actually surprised that Erik's information packet from Azazel hadn't covered this. "Tony Stark and I were dorm mates at prep school together. We stayed friends when we went off to college."

"And Rogers?"

"He worked with Logan's unit for a while, and Logan brought him home when they had leave." 

"And, of course, you adopted him."

Charles just laughed, "Logan has never steered me wrong before." Charles capped that with a gentle squeeze.

Erik smiled, "Does Tony often have to discipline your ex-es?"

"If I may be clear: Tony has to do nothing on my behalf, he's just exceptionally defensive of people he's fond of."

"I imagine that's a rather small list."

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Mr. Lehnsherr."

"I'm not doing anything, Mr. Xavier. I'm still too impressed that you lied to your sister." Erik smirked. 

"I did not!" Charles paused for a blush, "You lied to her and I failed to correct you. Now, are we actually going to this restaurant of yours, or did you just make it up in the hope that my sister would fail to remember something in German?"

Erik laughed, "We don't have to go. Even if you sister looks into it, once my name gets mentioned they'll corroborate whatever story I told her."

"Now I absolutely insist we go. There's a story there and I demand to know it."

"It's really not that good a story."

"You're objecting too much, which means it's actually fabulous." 

"It's a restaurant."

"Where people would lie for you."

"Because I'm the owner."

Charles stopped mid-stride, "You own a restaurant?"

Erik paused for a moment, not quite sure what to do with so obviously impressed a Charles. "Yes."

"How is that not the line you lead with when you're hitting on people? Hi, I'm Erik Lehnsherr, I'm a cutthroat lawyer at Crane, Poole, and Schmidt -- yes, that's the firm you heard about two days ago on television -- and, by the way, I also have an artistic side because I own a restaurant." 

"Owning a restaurant means I have an artistic side?"

"There's an implication. Especially if it's a good restaurant."

"Ah, but you've never been there so you don't know whether or not it's good."

"I know it's good because you'd never support something that was less than perfect. I also know that there's a reason you haven't found a way to drop this restaurant into the conversation before. Something there you want to protect from everything casual."

Erik stuffed his hands into his pockets, somehow widening the distance between them. "And how do you know that?"

Fearless Charles reached out and gently ran his palms down Erik's forearms while he replied, "Because you care. You fight for what you believe in, and only what you believe in. If you think a client is in the wrong you refuse to work for them. The state's prosecutors have been quoted saying that the surest indicator that someone is innocent is if you're defending them. You wouldn't keep something a secret because you're ashamed, you'd do it because it needs protecting, which means this restaurant of yours is a very special place."

"How do you know that?"

"Partly because I'm an artist, studying people is what I do, and partly because I think Azazel has a bet with Janos about whether or not we'll end up killing each other so he's starting dropping hints."

Charles gently tugged on Erik's sleeves until he pulled his hands back out of his pockets and Charles could stand with him palm to palm. Erik just stared at the man in front of him for a moment, completely blown away by the ridiculous amount of trust he'd placed in Erik and his better nature. And how Erik wanted to live up to it. "The operators are friends of my parents." 

Charles wrapped one arm around Erik's waist and got him moving again and drew the other arm around his shoulder, still keeping a firm grip on Erik's hand. "Let me guess, the 'operators' used to be the owners, until they ran into financial trouble, and you bought it to help them."

"Basically."

"These must have been very good friends."

"The best of them."

"If you continue to give one word answers then I'm going to let go of your hand."

Erik cleared his throat, acting like the threat did nothing to him and explained, "Ada Roth is my mother's best friend, and has been since they were kinder. One day they snuck away and went into the town where a young man named Hugo lived." Charles grinned at the obvious turn of the story, and Erik nodded. "They got married, and Hugo's cousin came to the wedding."

"Your father."

"My father. The four stayed in Europe for several years, then when when my mother got pregnant, they came out to the states." 

"Where they opened up their restaurant."

Erik nodded. "They all had awful jobs when they first moved here, and Mama and Tante Ada hated that none of the German restaurants they found had the sort of food they knew. So the two of them insisted on opening Zigeuner. All four of them worked there until I made enough money for them to retire. Mama and Papa have done so, moving to a quiet little house with too much land and a forest in the backyard, just like Mama always wanted when she was young. But my Tante and Onkel refuse to retire, so I do what I can for them."

Erik finished the abridged version of his story, and when Charles didn't respond he turned to find Charles looking up at him with the gentlest expression he'd ever seen. "Charles?"

Charles shifted the arm around his shoulders and pressed his lips to Erik's knuckles, and Erik's breath caught at the unexpected gesture. "Thank you, Erik. It means… a great deal to me that you're willing to tell me these things."

"Like you said, I don't go for things that are less than perfect."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My profound apologies for the delay. I've been working on stories for a reverse bang and that's eaten up all my creativity. I give you my word the next chapter will be out much sooner since the stories I've been working on are now at the beta-ing stage. 
> 
> (By the way, anyone know where to find a beta for Avengers fic? ;)

Erik roamed into the office at noon on a day where he'd meant to be in no later than nine. He should be storming in to counteract the pattern of tardiness, but it was difficult to feign irritation at the world when he'd spend the morning with Charles. 

 

Charles had adored Erik's restaurant and had started sending him sporadic texts, asking whether or not Erik could manage to get away for breakfast/lunch/dinner so Charles could have another plate of dumplings and piles of black forest cake. Erik just smirked, not even attempting to feign that he had things he'd rather be doing. Some part of Erik poked at him, suggesting that perhaps he shouldn't be offering himself up quite so freely to Charles, maybe teasing him a little instead, but Erik shoved away the voice, too sure that he _wanted_ Charles to concern himself with the way he usually did things.

 

So Erik started leaving work at five, and coming no earlier than nine, and sometimes even took a lunch break, which was more time off than he could remember ever taking. No one dared mention Erik's sudden shift in schedule to his face, the managing partners were content that, for the moment, Erik wasn't going to die of a heart attack before 35 (which was an eventuality they'd actually taken out insurance for), and everyone else too nervous that Erik would make them regret ever being born if they brought it up. 

 

On this particular day, two weeks to the day after his first meeting with Charles, Erik came late to work and glowered at the paralegals and secretaries who were foolish enough to stare at him and whisper as he went by. (A lesser man would've been nervous that he somehow looked like he'd spent the morning on a couch wrapped around Charles Xavier, exchanging slow, steady kisses at the boring parts of Charles' latest favorite movie. But Erik had destroyed enough opponents with something so simple as lipstick on a shirt collar or a trail of bite mark on the collar bone to know how to prevent himself from looking untoward.)

 

Hank was already waiting for Erik at the end of the hall when he came past, and Erik spared a moment to be impressed that shy, stumbling Hank had the from desk secretary so firmly in his pocket that she was willing to warn him when Erik was on his way in. Hank matched Erik's stride easily and started rambling, "I shifted your 9:30 to 2:45 and your 10:30 to 4:00, but the 10:30 wasn't happy about it. I offered to shift him to another lawyer in the firm if he'd prefer, and he got agreeable after that, but I expect he intends to be as difficult as he can possibly be when he gets here."

 

"I shall have to find a way to endure." Erik snarked. 

 

"I'm sure you will." 

 

"If that's all?" Erik stepped around Hank and tossed open his office door while Hank stumbled out, "Actually-" and Erik stopped mid-step. Sitting in the chair behind Erik's desk was Selene Gallio, one of Erik's most unfortunate acquaintances. Hank finished in a tense hush, "Miss Gallio is here to see you. Ms .Schmidt told me to let her wait for you in your office."

 

"Don't damage the poor boy, Erik." Selene interrupted. "She is the Schmidt in 'Crane, Poole and Schmidt' after all, the boy couldn't help himself. And in his defense, I do believe he attempted to both text and phone you with a warning while you were with your little painter." 

 

Hank shot Erik an apologetic look before he all but dove out of the room, and Erik seized control over his muscles a spare moment before he slammed the door in frustration. He spread a bland, pleasing look over his face, one he hadn't felt the need to assume since he'd first made Charles smile. "My apologies for making you wait, Ms. Gaillo. Had I know you were planning on seeing me this morning I would've come in earlier."

 

"I was under the impression you were supposed to be in to work at nine, Erik darling."

 

Erik gave her a subtle smirk, "You know full well that so long as I make them money it's more like guidelines than actual rules."

 

"I highly doubt Ms. Schmidt will see it that way."

 

Erik sat down in the client chair on the far side of his desk, pretending it didn't irritate him to be forced out of his position. "Ms Schmidt has informed me that part of my value to this firm is my ability to think and act outside the restraining little box that contaminates most of her hires."

 

Selene snorted, "Is that what passes for out of the box now? Bedding an artist?"

 

Two weeks ago Erik would've replied, 'I'm told that supporting the arts qualifies for my required _pro bono_ hours,' but he couldn't bring himself to say such a thing about Charles, not even to Selene, and not even in jest. So Erik simply didn't reply, moving over to the small decanter of stout German coffee Hank always had ready for him whenever he came in, and deliberately didn't offer any to Selene.

 

"What darling, you have nothing to say? How terribly unlike you. Perhaps this little artist is a succubus in his spare time."

 

"I have many things to say Ms. Gaillo, however none of them are appropriate for a conversation between a lawyer and his client."

 

"Considering who's bed you spent your morning in I wouldn't think you cared much about about the formality of the attorney/client relationship."

 

Erik dropped down into the client chair, far more comfortable now that he knew what she was here for and snorted before he took a long drink of his coffee. Selene smirked, thinking Erik was faking his calm. "This is New York, darling. We allow many things, but your own rules of professional conduct demand that you cannot enter into a sexual relationship with a client while you're representing them. And as of this morning, you're both the boyfriend and the attorney of record for one Mr. Charles Xavier."

 

"Boyfriend? Really, Selene."

 

"I would assume you'd be trying to characterize this as true love rather than mocking the institution, your love unwilling to be denied so that you might throw yourself on the Bar's mercy. Without it you're just another man sleeping with his young, impressionable client." Selene smirked.

 

"My derision was for your choice of phrase, not the concept. Honestly, who over the age of 25 uses the term 'boyfriend'?"

 

"Feigning innocence is your best option Erik, I suggest you use it."

 

Erik smirked, "I assumed you're here with a different, more profitable option. The same one you always bring me."

 

Selene leaned forward and gave Erik a look that almost could've passed for sympathetic if her smile hadn't been so smug. "There are too many people in this industry who want to see you crash down in flames for you to have honestly thought you'd get away with your little tryst." Erik took another long draw on his coffee and leaned back in his chair, letting Selene get frustrated. "You know it's already been called in." A pause. "At this point it can't be stopped."

 

Erik set down his mug and stood, buttoning his jacket and moved for the door. Selene slithered to her feet and glowered at him. "They'll ruin you without his help Erik, there's no point in fighting."

 

Erik gave her a bland smile and headed out of the office, Selene trailing in his wake and making biting remarks about Erik's idiocy. Erik saw Selene to the elevator, a picture perfect gentleman the entire time, and the moment the doors shut behind her he stormed beck down the hall, people diving out of his way. He went past his own door and straight for Janos' empty office, slamming the door behind him so hard it shook the wall. Azazael was already sprawled on the long couch that took up one of Janos' walls, aware that Selene had been in the building and waiting for Erik to lose his temper and retrench. Azazael smirked, "Do you have a body in your office you need me to dispose of?"

 

Erik snorted, "When I need help with body dumping I'll have completely lost my touch."

 

Janos quietly closed out his documents while Azazael asked, "What was her threat?"

 

"Getting me disbarred."

 

Janos paused, and Azazael replied, "The Bar hates you."

 

"I believe that was the point."

 

Janos rocked back in his chair and quirked an eyebrow while Azazael asked, "But why? What does she get out of warning you? More to the point, what does she get out of trying to ruin you at all?"

 

Janos snorted, answering for the lot of them no one ever really _needed_ a reason to destroy Erik. Azazael gave Erik a pointed look, expecting a bit more backstory, but Erik firmly refused to speak. A brisk knock on the door interrupted their staring contest and Hank poked his head in. "Ah, Mr Lehnsherr. Mr. Azazael had me clear your afternoon." Implied in the question was whether or not that was a bad thing, and Erik gave a sharp nod. 

 

"Did he have you clear Mr. Quested's as well?"

 

"He did, sir. And he told me to collect this," Hank handed over one of the small cameras the firm used for depositions. 

 

Azazael plucked it out of Hank's hand before he gave it to Erik and interrupted, "I'll take that, thank you. On your way now, Hank." And he shut the door in Hank's face.

 

Erik furrowed at him and Azazael replied, "If I get called to testify about this whole mess I'd like to be able to honestly say that you had no opportunity to tamper with the evidence."

 

Erik nodded his understanding and went for the door, but Janos cleared his throat and stopped everyone. "You are sure, yes? This is what you want to do?"

 

"Of course it's what I want to do! Charles has to know what kind of information they're going to be looking for. I can't just send him out there blind. And when I don't cave to the demands goodness knows what they'll do to him because of me."

 

Janos smirked and Azazael teased, "I believe the question was about whether or not you actually wanted to go to all this trouble to keep Charles, not whether you thought the plan was sound."

 

Erik rolled his eyes and stepped for the door, muttering about ridiculous questions, wholeheartedly ignoring how he was blushing.

 

XXXXX

 

Charles was in a haze of happiness when Erik left that morning. They were taking it slow, random chunks of days spent together in between long hours of Erik working and Charles trying to keep up with all the commitments he'd made when no inspiration had seemed forthcoming. Erik had joined him for breakfast and a slow, quiet morning that Charles hadn't wanted to end. After Erik left Charles took the time to tidy up and tried to keep himself focused on the blank canvas in front of him rather than what he wanted to text Erik. His attention kept spiraling away until someone knocked on the door and gave him a respite. 

 

Charles opened the door with a smile on his face, secretly hoping it would be Erik on the other side when he opened it. Charles' smile turned slightly less lecherous but no less pleased when he saw it was, "Emma!" 

 

Emma however, didn't seem at all pleased with Charles' smile and went straight past him to the waiting canvas. "Emma dear? Is something wrong?"

 

She stopped sharply and stared at his non-existent work to snap, "This canvas is blank."

 

"Well yes, they usually are."

 

"You're supposed to have been spending these last two weeks painting, Charles."

 

"You know full well that painting doesn't necessarily mean producing." 

 

Emma turned to him, a pillar of fury and said, "I know that when you were surrounded by your friends you produced a whole show's worth of art. But when we trusted your begging and left you alone with your lawyer you created nothing." 

 

Charles bristled, "I did. not. beg. I made a well reasoned argument-"

 

"'Oh Emma'," she mocked, "'you just have to give us more time together. He's perfect.'"

 

"I _like_ him, Emma. What's the matter with that?"

 

She wrenched the blank canvas from its easel and all but tossed it at Charles, "This doesn't strike you as a problem? Tell me Charles, what have you sketched lately?"

 

Charles rolled his eyes at her and pulled out his stack of papers and shook them emphatically. "Any of these ring a bell?"

 

"All of those were from our party, Charles. What have you sketched since you've fallen into the black abyss that is Mr. Lehnsherr?" 

 

"I've-"

 

"And don't you dare lie to me Charles Xavier." 

 

"I've got other concerns right now, and yes, one among them is Erik."

 

"Other concerns? Charles don't you remember _anything_? This is how it starts. It begins by ignoring your art for other things. You tell yourself you'll get back to it, but then you never do. And then you put it off and put off until the thought of going back, of catching up to where you should be, is too painful to contemplate, and so you stop thinking about it, devoting yourself to these other things with the thought that somehow you'll become productive again."

 

"It's not the same!"

 

"How in the hell is not the same?"

 

"I love him!" both of them froze, stunned by the unexpected declaration. "I love him, Emma," Charles said in a hush. "He's like a piece of a me I didn't know was missing."

 

"And what piece of you will your art be when you're forced to stop creating." Emma snapped, treating Charles' announcement with the disdain she thought it deserved.

 

"Erik won't do that."

 

"Because you _believe_ in him, Charles? You honestly think that will be enough to stop him?"

 

"He won't need to be stopped."

 

"You're being a fool, Charles."

 

"I have _faith_ , Emma. There's a difference."

 

Emma gathered up her bag and stormed for the door, "You know, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." 

 

"This isn't the same, Emma!"

 

She paused just long enough to turn back to him and mutter, "You're wrong. And I hope that when you realize that there will at least be enough pieces of you for me to put you back together again."

 

Charles stormed around the apartment in a fury after she left, finally settling back at his easel and painting out Emma's white frame in a melee of thick red and black brushstrokes. Another knock came and Charles tossed open the door ready to yell at whoever had the temerity to interrupt him when he was in a mood. "What!"

 

Under normal circumstances Erik would just quirk an eyebrow at Charles and tease him for whatever had him in such a state, but this time Erik was actually nervous. Erik elbowed his way through the door and looked almost frantically around, before turning back to Charles, and running his hands up and down Charles' arms checking for injuries. "What's wrong? What happened?"

 

Charles stepped into Erik's space, calming Erik back down just as quickly as he'd riled Erik up. "Emma dropped by. There's nothing wrong, she was just being Emma."

 

"Excellent." Azazael interrupted before Charles could sink any further into Erik's embrace and grabbed Erik by the shirt, hauling him back out the door. "Now, Erik is going to wait outside while we have a conversation."

 

"Wait outside? Why?" Azazael shut and locked the door before Erik had a moment to explain and turned to usher Charles into his own living room. "What's going on?"

 

Azazael ignored the question and gestured to the side, "I'm sure you remember Mr. Quested."

 

Proper etiquette kicked in just long enough for Charles gave him a polite nod and say, "Janos, lovely to see you again, now what in the hell is going on?"

 

Azazael pulled a small handheld camera out of his pocket and turned it on Charles while Janos flipped on his blackberry and started reading. "Mr. Xavier, at any point in your relationship with Mr. Lehnsherr did he demand sexual relations as a condition of entering into or continuing your professional relationship?"

 

Charles stared at the camera in confusion before he said, "Are you out of your mind? What would make you think such a thing?"

 

Janos gave Charles the smallest of comforting smiles, "Please answer the question Mr. Xavier."

 

"No! Erik did no such thing!"

 

"At any point has Mr. Lehnsherr employed coercion, intimidation, or undue influence in entering a sexual relationship incident to your professional relationship?"

 

"Are you honestly asking me whether or not Erik has intimidated me into sleeping with him?"

 

"Mr. Xaver-"

 

" _No_ , Mr. Quested. Anything I've done with Mr. Lehnsherr I've done of my own free will and choice."

 

"Finally Mr. Xavier, did you enter into a sexual relationship with Mr. Lehnsherr while he was representing you in a domestic relations matter?"

 

Charles cocked his head to the side, "You mean is Erik my divorce attorney?"

 

"Divorce, adoption, custody, paternity-"

 

"Yes, yes, I understand. And no, Erik isn't representing me in any of those matters. He advises me in business decisions." 

 

Azazael snapped the camera shut and said, "Excellent, that should satisfy the Bar if they have any questions."

 

"I'm sorry, the _Bar_?" 

 

"The New York State Bar tends to frown on lawyers sleeping with clients."

 

"But, we're not sleeping together."

 

Azazael just stared at him in disbelief for a moment before he twisted around to stare at Janos, who was trying not to giggle and ruin his image. Azazael tossed open the door to reveal a waiting Erik and shouted, "You aren't bedding this man?"

 

Erik's gaze flicked past Azazael to blushing Charles, and Erik smiled in response. Azazael groaned and stormed out of the room, grumbling obscenities in Russian. Janos grabbed Charles by the shoulders and pressed two quick kisses to his cheeks before following after Azazael. 

 

"Umm, what just happened?"

 

"They're covering my ass."

 

Charles rolled his eyes and pulled Erik in from the hallway, shutting the door behind him and stepping right back in to Erik's space. "That doesn't explain what they feel the need to cover you from."

 

Erik heaved out a breath and leaned back against the door, thunking his head back against the wood. "I've tried a lot of cases, Charles."

 

Normally Charles would tease Erik about being wretchedly vague, but Charles had that lovely sense of knowing when Erik wasn't trying to be vague, he was trying to work his way into whatever he meant to say. Charles leaned into him, resting his head on Erik's shoulder and just waited, listening as Erik's heartbeat steadily slowed from the panic he'd been in. "I got distracted when I first started practicing law, agreeing to take on cases just because they were fascinating, not because I believed in them."

 

"I'm sure young lawyers don't have much choice in the kinds of cases they take. You do what your boss tells you." Charles consoled.

 

Erik huffed, "Charles, someday it's going to sink in that I'm very, very good at what I do."

 

"Yes, but-"

 

"I had a choice. Every last time, it was my choice. And when I was young, I chose wrong."

 

"What changed?"

 

Erik ran his fingers through Charles' hair, slowly, like he was savoring the motion and didn't expect to be given another chance. "I got a rapist set free." Charles waited, letting Erik take his time. "It was an impossible case. My client raped that girl, I knew it, and everyone else knew it too. But I got him set free on a technicality." Charles nuzzled closer, wrapping his arms tighter around Erik's waist, clinging to him. "I did it just to see if I could. Just because no one said it could be done."

 

"And after?"

 

"I saw his victim. She'd been at the trial the entire time, I'd even cross-examined her and I never even really noticed her. Not until he was cleared of the charges and she looked at me like I'd betrayed her."

 

"What did you do?"

 

"Walked away. I quit my job, went to my parent's house for a while, and then Shirley Scmidt turned up at my door."

 

"Shirley Schmidt… your boss?"

 

"One of the managing partners, yes. She turned up at the house and offered me a job, freedom to choose all my own cases, and promised to tell me when she thought I was about to cross the line."

 

"And, _I'm_ crossing that line?"

 

Erik squeezed him tighter and laughed, "Shirley actually dropped by my office and gave me dating advice. I even think she's even got money in the office pool about how ugly the breakup will be."

 

"That's a truly warped office you've got there, Erik."

 

"The best people are."

 

Charles squeezed him a little tighter, "So, if she doesn't have a problem with me, then who does?"

 

"That client has plenty of friends, plenty of associates. And they've been trying to hire me on as his personal attorney ever since."

 

"And they've stopped trying to ask nicely."

 

Erik buried his face in the hair at Charles' temple and sighed out, "Yeah." Charles pressed even closer and Erik soothed, "Don't worry, I won't let them get to you. No matter what ridiculous thing they have planned now, I won't let them touch you."

 

Charles pulled back and gave Erik a look of disbelief, "Darling, I'm Charles Xavier." 

 

"I know that, but-"

 

"No, I don't think you quite do. My father left almost all of his assets to me, and frankly the amount of money I have is obscene."

 

"Then why was Logan so concerned that you'd drive yourself broke?"

 

"Because Logan is a mother hen, despite all his protestations otherwise. And honestly, not even I would be able to spend all my money." 

 

"But, Azazael didn't find that kind of money in his research."

 

Charles snorted, "My father was not a stupid man, darling. He anticipated that mother would remarry, and not to someone he approved of. He willed to her the amount required by law and then turned everything else over to me in a trust that couldn't be accessed by outside parties and lined with enough red tape to make it look like it doesn't belong to me. Howard Stark, Tony's father, was my father's executor and was given instructions to simplify all father's assets in the best sort of way for me to do what I wanted and not be stuck as a businessman. He made father's company a subsidiary in StarkTech and me a majority stockholder. As for my portfolio, I leave that to my broker, who takes tech advice from Tony, and I just spend the money." 

 

"So you're…

 

"Filthy rich." Charles smirked. "So the bastard can come after me all he likes, but I've got enough influence to drive him out of the city if I've got a mind to. I'll be fine, Erik. We'll be fine."

 

Erik ran his hand through Charles' hair, with Charles pressing up in the movement to keep contact. "We."

 

"Yes you great lump, _we_."

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, I have no idea how the delay in this chapter happened. You all have my most sincere apologies and my promise that I'll steam through my writer's block and get this done in the next few weeks.
> 
> Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? A particular scene/cameo/painting? Or should I just stop talking and get back to the updating? ;)

Charles didn't remember a time when he wasn't an artist at heart. Didn't remember a time when he didn't look up at the sprawling mess of his father's work and see the numbers as a foundation for a painting rather than what chemical those numbers might make. 

Brian Xavier would work longhand on his chalkboards, sketching out lengthy strings of half-finished equations on his half of the room while Charles 'worked' on whatever board his father was done with. Brian would design chemicals with enough explosive power to make Howard Stark jealous while Charles would trace the space between the numbers, bringing them all together in one smooth line. Something like those never-ending patterns on the Norse shields Mr. Odin had lining his office walls when Charles was a boy. And all these years later, when Charles was feeling particularly lonely, he would pull out a book and bring the letters together in just the same way. 

In the five days since he'd seen Erik, Charles had been through seventeen pages of aimless lines. 

Charles took that as a sign that it was perhaps time to take matters into his own hands. 

A few hours after Charles' impromptu deposition by Azazel Erik had gotten a panicked phone call from Hank begging him back to the office. Apparently one of Erik's stickier cases had devolved into absolute chaos and Erik had spent the last five days trying to smooth things out. With that in mind, Charles had been understanding about the whole of Erik's attention being elsewhere, content with going from all day access to nothing but monosyllabic text messages from his boyfriend. However, there was only so much silence a man could take before it came time to intervene.

Charles arrived at Erik's office with a bag of dumplings at what would be -- for any normal person -- lunchtime. He strode up to the lovely girl staffing the front desk and smiled at her, expecting a polite sort of smile back, but instead was rather taken aback when the girl froze at the sight of him instead. Since Charles was generally regarded as pleasant (his ex-fiance notwithstanding), he assumed the girl was worried about Erik.

She scrambled for her phone and stumbled out, "I'm sorry Mr. Xavier, I didn't know you were coming! Mr. Lehnsherr is in a meeting right now but I can call Hank and he can-"

Charles waived his hand to stop her fretting, "Oh no my dear, don't interrupt his meeting. I'm willing to wait until it's properly finished."

Horror didn't begin adequately describe the girl's expression, apparently outright terrified by the thought of letting Erik Lehnsherr's boyfriend wait for anything. "Really Mr. Xavier, I should-"

"Charles love, my name is Charles. I haven't the temperament to be a mister." He poked, trying to make the girl smile. 

Instead the girl just stared at him like his very existence was beyond her comprehension. Like she was trying to reconcile what she knew about Erik with the genial man in the hoodie standing in front of her. The secretary plucked up her phone and muttered, "I'm just gonna call Hank."

Charles shrugged off her concern, but before he could properly object a massive bang echoed through the floor, interrupting everything in the office. Charles cast an inquisitive look around the room, wondering if someone might know what that had been, but everyone kept their eyes firmly on their phones, or their papers, either because this was a common occurrence or the curiosity had just been bled out of them by this point. 

Charles poked his head around the corner just in time to see a man come flying out of one of the offices and crash into the opposite wall. There was no blood that Charles could see, but the man slumped to the floor and moaned like he'd been beaten. A suit jacket came flopping out the door after him and smacked into his face. Apparently that was enough to force the man up, and he flung the jacket off his head to shout, "I'll have your license for this Lehnsherr!" 

Charles heaved a sigh and dropped his head to the wall beside him, taking in the show as Erik burst out the door that Charles really should've recognized was Erik's office and grabbed the man by his shirt front, hauling him to his feet. Charles spared a moment to appreciate both the strength of the fabric to hold up to the beating and the definition of Erik's forearms. 

Erik dragged the man down the hall, toes skimming on the carpet while Erik lugged him along, ignoring the increasingly angry things the man was shouting. A rather frazzled looking man came trailing along behind them, mouth hanging open like he was absolutely sure he was supposed to be saying something, but he couldn't possibly imagine what that was supposed to be. 

Erik hit the waiting room and called out, "Hold the elevator!" still conveniently ignoring all the shouting and flailing the other man was doing in his grip. Most people just scampered out of Erik's way and paid the smallest amount of attention possible, but Azazel stepped off the elevator and gave Erik a long look before he smirked and held open the doors for him to toss the man into the box. 

The man scrambled to his feet just in time for Azazel to hold out his hand with a feral sort of politeness. "It's so lovely to see you again Mr. Westlake. Such a pity you have to be going. Perhaps next time you come you should avoid stirring Erik's temper. You do know how he gets."

Flecks of spittle came out of the man's mouth while he sneered, "The next time I see Lehnsherr I'll be suing him for assault!" 

Azazel stepped in the path of the door, leaning close into Westlake's space and murmured, "Oh, I can think of few things that would bring me more pleasure than testifying to a jury of your peers and a whole room of camera crews exactly what you said to your wife to make Erik feel the need to throw you out. Keep that in mind." 

Azazel stepped back and gave a smug little finger waive while Westlake's open-mouthed counsel slipped in with his client and the doors closed behind them. Azazel turned to Erik with a smirk, "And how was your day Lehnsherr?"

Erik humped, "Leave me alone, Azazel," who just snorted and replied, "Lehnsherr, you just threw a city councilman out of the office like he was a naughty schoolboy. Now, I adore any chance I get to irritate our lovely local government, but usually you're the poster boy for ignoring the people who annoy you."

"He threatened my client." Erik shrugged, not at all embarrassed. 

Azazel quirked an eyebrow at Erik like he was torn between scolding Erik for not having the common courtesy to at least give him something better to defend and the pleasure of having to come up with something clever to keep Erik from getting convicted of assault. 

"He won't press charges." A strong voice interrupted. "If he presses charges then he has to explain to a judge why he called me a kike whore." Azazel and Erik both twisted around, unaware that Erik had been followed down the hall by his client, the object of this fight. 

The woman was… exquisite. 

She was wrapped in a short trench coat, bound tight at the waist, with a wide triangle of a high-necked dark green dress peeking out. Her face was ringed with brown curls, offsetting smoky green eyes and lips the kind of plump that people noticed. She was, in a word, posh. The sort of put together that Emma would've adored. Of course, thoughts of Emma weren't particularly helpful at this moment since Charles' own internal Emma was busy pointing out that this striking woman in the perfectly accessorized ensemble was exactly who Charles would imagine a Mr. Lehnsherr would date. While Charles himself was in a pair of worn at the knee jeans and a hoodie over a white t-shirt streaked with paint. 

No, Charles couldn't remember a time when he hadn't longed to be an artist, but at this moment he thought perhaps there might be something to be said for embracing more traditional respectability. 

Azazel paused for a moment after the client's announcement, collecting his words before he replied, "Then Erik's response was no doubt justified." Azazel stepped forward and stretched out his hand, taking hers in hello and pressed a surprisingly fitting kiss to the back of her hand while saying, "It is a pleasure to see you again Magda, no matter how unfortunate I find being forced to look at your husband."

Magda laughed, low but bright nonetheless, and replied, "I've found myself suddenly enjoying my husband's presence simply because it means he's offering me a whole new reason to call Erik." Charles had seen enough of Raven and Emma politely declining men to know that in her own round-about way Magda was telling Azazel that flirting would get him nowhere because her sights were set on Erik. 

Azazel flicked his gaze off Magda's face and straight to Charles, who was awkwardly positioned in a corner half-way hidden by a plant. Erik said that he'd never found a man better than Azazel at tracking down those hidden facts that people to keep quiet. So in that momentary glance, Azazel saw the predatory jealousy in Charles' eyes and decided it was probably a good time to intervene before Charles forwent subtlety climbed Erik like a tree to stake his claim. 

Azazel kept a firm grip on Magda's hand and guided it to his elbow, tugging her along with him towards the elevator, blissfully ignoring the brush off he'd just received. "Why don't I take you out to lunch and and we leave Erik here to do the plotting. That is what he's best at."

Magda was obviously not a woman used to being disagreed with, and slipped out of Azazel's grip to turn back to Erik. "Actually, I was intending to take Erik out as a thank you for the chaos of the last few days." 

Azazel glanced over to Charles and gave a minute shrug, as if to say, 'I tried to handle it civilly. Go with my blessing.' 

Charles stuck out his chin and assumed the 'don't screw with me' expression that Raven was so fond of before he stepped out from behind the plant. Erik caught the rustling of movement and was off guard enough to burst out, "Charles!" The smile accompanying that exclamation was bright enough that Charles was willing to forgive Erik for being ridiculous enough not to realize Magda had been flirting with him. 

"I didn't realize you were planning on heading out to lunch, otherwise I wouldn't have gone to the trouble of bringing you some." Charles kept his tone perfectly innocent while he lifted the brown bag of dumplings, not accusing Erik of keeping things from him but not actually embarrassed that he had turned up at the office unannounced. He stepped forward and stretched out his hand, "Hello, I'm Charles Xavier, Erik's boyfriend."

Magda gave Charles a fierce sort of grin when she shook back and replied, "Magda Eisenhart, Erik's client. And lunch was going to be a surprise. After all, we've spent so much time together these last few days I thought it was the least I could do for him."

Charles maintained his innocence with a laugh, like he was completely unaware of the psychological warfare going on between them. "He's so terrible when he's wrapped up in a case, isn't he?" Charles stepped over and leaned into Erik's space, quite pleased when Erik slung an arm around his waist in response. "For such a clever man I find it remarkable how easily he forgets to do things like eat and sleep." 

Charles knew he'd struck a blow when Magda pursed her lips at him. Charles was prepared for a few more bouts of verbal sparring before she conceded this round and went away, but Erik quite easily, and unexpectedly, ended it all. He pinched Charles in the side, catching on a ticklish spot and making him jump and squeak. "So says the man who thinks scotch covers all the food groups."

"I'm an artist." Charles replied with a smirk. "That means alcoholism is a perfectly acceptable use of my time."

Erik chuckled and turned to Magda, who had thin grin plastered over her face in acceptance of Erik's preference. "You don't need to thank me Magda. Taking down your husband will be pleasure enough."

Magda slipped forward and gently touched Erik's cheek while she replied, "Darling, you've done me a service I can never repay. Dinner is the least I can do." The woman paused for half a moment and Charles thought she was actually going to press the matter and insist on taking Erik out, but instead she lightly stroked Erik's cheek and stepped back. "I supposed we'll just have to re-schedule."

With that Magda turned and left in a dramatic swirl of trench coat. The moment the elevator doors closed behind her, both Azazel and Charles turned to Erik and smacked him. 

"What?" Erik demanded.

Azazel stormed away muttering something in Russian and Charles just fixed his best, 'you are an idiot' glower on Erik before turning down the hall towards Erik's office. "Charles?" Erik questioned, stumbling along after him. "What did I do?"

Charles snorted, "You were an idiot."

Erik paused, "I'm gonna need more than that."

"You were an unbelievably naive idiot."

"I don't think anyone has ever called me naive before." Erik smirked, and when Charles didn't reply he continued, "So, since I'm an idiot, where exactly are we going?"

Charles stopped and twisted around, Erik coming to a stop a hair before crashing into him, ending up with their chests pressed tight together. "We're going to your office so I can close the blinds, crawl into your lap, and remind you exactly who it is you're supposed to be dating."

Judging by the was Erik's pupils dilated, he had no objections to that. 

XXXXX

Emma paused in the restaurant's doorway, striking a pose while she casually scanned the room for her company. She hadn't been on time to an appointment since she'd left her father's house and certainly hadn't started today. People usually assumed she belonged to the flakey artist stereotype and couldn't quite get herself together on time, and they were always unseated when she strolled in with the air that they were beneath the effort it would take her to arrive on time. She doubted that today's appointment would be thrown off his game by so simple a move, but the last thing she wanted to do was appear at all out of sorts for this brunch. 

She hadn't spoken to Charles since she'd stormed out of his apartment several days ago, but the moment she stepped on to the street outside Charles' building her phone had buzzed with a message from Sebastian Shaw.

Emma Frost was no fool, no matter what people assumed about her for walking away from the Frost fortune. So when someone left her a message claiming to be Sebastian Shaw's personal secretary and asking that she call back as soon as possible, Emma very calmly forwarded the number on to one of her more reputable contacts and asked them to check on that. 

Her contact took over two days calling in various favors of his own to find someone who had access to what turned out to be Sebastian Shaw's private cell phone. By the time Emma called back the secretary explained that Mr. Shaw had anticipated that her call would be far more prompt, and now he was out of town on business. However, she would pass the message on to Mr. Shaw and if the opportunity presented itself he just might call her back.

Shaw, of course, had kept her waiting another two days in retribution for not calling him back immediately (in fact, Emma was fairly certain that if she did the math she would find that Shaw's reply had taken just as long as hers, down to the minute). The secretary had scheduled a meeting for brunch the next day at one of those restaurants that normally required reservations several months in advance. The restaurant was sleek and modern, everything done in shades of gunmetal grey with the occasional splash of red for accent. Honestly, just the sort of place she could imagine Sebastian Shaw picking, which is why she was so surprised when she saw one of Shaw's lieutenants waiting for her rather than the man himself. 

Emma fought the urge to straighten her dress before she slipped into the empty seat across the table from Selene Gallio. (Emma had worn a simple white dress that rode too high on her thighs when she sat and made her ass look divine, a ploy for dealing with Shaw that she doubted would work on a woman who'd been through at least five husbands.) 

Selene -- in a far more appropriate black pant suit ensemble -- smirked at her and began, "Ms. Frost, it's so lovely to see you." 

Emma leaned back in her chair, "Let's not start with lying to each other Ms. Gaillo. You're here because Shaw owns you body and soul, and I'm here because I'd prefer not be smothered in my sleep. I think we can skip the pleasantries."

"Oh Emma, you and I both know Shaw is far more subtle than that." Selene smirked. "But, you're right, we have far more important things to discuss here than how you're doing. Mr. Shaw is aware of your attachment to Charles Xavier and your concern over his most recent entanglement. Mr. Shaw would like to assist you in this."

Emma quirked an eyebrow at Selene, but maintained her silence while the waiter delivered their menus. Apparently Emma's expression was scathing, because the man stumbled away without bothering to tell them about the specials. "What sort of assistance does Mr. Shaw plan to offer?"

Selene smirked, obviously pleased that Emma hadn't thrown her water in Selene's face and stormed out of the room. "Mr. Shaw is a man fond of keeping his own counsel. However, he told me to reassure you that whatever means he employs to handle your problem, no damage will be done to Mr. Xavier or his reputation."

"And I suppose Mr. Shaw just wants me to trust that he'll hold up his end of the bargain?"

Selene looked at her like she was a small child who didn't quite grasp the rules of the game and replied, "Of course not. If Mr. Shaw fails to hold to his end of the bargain in a manner you find fitting, then you are free from payment."

Emma snorted, "Of course. And what will Shaw's price be?" 

"Dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Mr. Shaw finds you interesting. His price for saving your best friend from himself if that you agree to accompany him to a meal." 

"All Shaw wants from me is a date?" Emma repeated, finally taken by surprise. 

"A meal, and whatever might come after of your own fee will and choice." Selene smirked. 

Emma gave Selene a long look before asking, "He's not going to kill Lehnsherr, is he?"

"Would you mind?"

"Not particularly, but Charles would."

Selene leaned back in her chair, speculatively watching Emma. "You seem terribly attached to this boy when there are people far more worth your effort."

Emma strove not to be offended, because it was really rather true. "He's my own version of a puppy." She replied. "If I left him to himself he'd die within a day, but he's too young to know that he's too young."

Selene smiled, something as close to natural as Emma supposed her face was capable of making and replied, "I'll inform Mr. Shaw of your terms: Mr. Xavier remains untouched and no killing Lehsherr. Anything else?"

Emma let her grin turn just as fierce as Selene's and replied, "No."


	7. Chapter 7

Erik Lehnsherr exercised patience when the moment called for it. Which wasn't often, but he was capable of it. For the most part he despised patience, preferring to always be working towards something, to be achieving something rather than the quiet mulling before the action. 

Considering this dislike for patience, under normal circumstances waking up hard in another man's bed after a night of nothing more than making out… wouldn't have happened. The moment one of Erik's dates made it clear Erik wasn't getting laid he left the apartment, pulled out his little black book, and had someone new on the line by the time he hit the ground floor. 

But somehow, for Charles, Erik was thrilled by the thought of waking up with the other man's lean -- but fully clothed -- body spread on top of him, using a similarly clothed Erik like a pillow. Erik woke these mornings to snuggling and a few slow kisses, then Erik would shower first while Charles made tea and a surprisingly intricate breakfast (the family cook had taught him to bake when he hit his first artistic dry spell in high school). Then there would be -- heaven help him -- more snuggling, and idle kissing while they chatted aimlessly through the morning, but never did Erik give in to the ever-increasing desire to lift Charles up on to the kitchen table and just have his way with him. 

The first night Erik slept at Charles' apartment they'd both fallen asleep mid-conversation, waking up tangled together on the couch. The next night Charles curled up next to Erik and invited him to his bed with the understanding that no sex would be happening tonight either. The thought to walk away didn't even cross Erik's mind. Instead he stripped down to his undershirt and boxers and practiced restraint like he never had before. 

At some point in the dead of night, with lips pressed to Erik's skin, Charles had murmured that he'd made mistakes before after he'd fallen into bed with men he adored, and he didn't want to repeat himself. Not with Erik. Despite his inborn curiosity, Erik didn't pry, and Charles didn't continue. 

Their lunch at Erik's office had actually been the most physical since their relationship began. With Charles straddling Erik on the sofa and exchanging deep claiming kisses in between bites of dumpling. Erik kept his arms firmly wrapped around Charles, with both hands planted on his ass. They'd gone on like that, losing track of time until Hank hesitantly interrupted and warned Erik that his first afternoon appointment was due in five minutes. 

Erik had been more than willing to cancel the rest of his day, but Charles had pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and slid off Erik's lap. "I should let you get back to work."

Erik had gripped Charles' hips and pulled him straight back down while he said, "No, you really don't."

Charles had smirked and pressed one final kiss to Erik's lips, then rested his forehead against Erik's, just sitting there, breathing him in. Charles just sat there for a moment before he whispered, "Come home tonight." 

Erik paused and just stared at Charles for a long moment. There was an implied 'our' in that question. Asking Erik to come homes instead of back to Charles' place. Erik hauled Charles even closer and pressed him with wet, open-mouthed kisses. Charles melted into Erik's embrace, only to be interrupted by Hank buzzing through to announce that Erik's one o'clock was there. Erik reached out to smash the phone and shout at Hank to cancel the meeting, but Charles disengaged, and murmured, "You've got things to do, Erik." Erik quirked an eyebrow at the potential innuendo stemming from that and Charles smacked him on the arm, "You know what I mean."

Erik let Charles go with some modicum of grace, only to burn through his remaining clients before stealing an excellent bottle of scotch from another lawyer's office and picking up groceries to seduce Charles with his cooking before finally taking Charles to bed. 

However, this plan failed to take into account three twenty-something boys sprawled over Charles' sofa and watching his television when Erik arrived. The eldest of the boys heard the door shut behind Erik and twisted around his seat to say hello to Charles, but froze at the sight of Erik in his finely-pressed suit, a bag of groceries looped over his arm. 

"Uh… sup?" The young man stuttered out.

The boy's two companions didn't bother looking up from what Erik was fairly certain was a movie Charles would be disgraced to have on his television, but one of them muttered, "Dude, shut up. You're interrupting." 

Erik dropped the bag down on Charles' counter with a thunk and declared, "Yes, it would be a tragedy to interrupt such high quality entertainment."

All three of the boys popped up from their sprawls on the sofa and just stared at Erik like he was there to kill them. The lanky, red-headed boy slowly edged his hand towards his pocket and Erik couldn't help himself when he snapped, "So help me, if you call Frost to complain about me being here I will throw you out that window."

The boy slowly moved his hand away from the pocket, obviously terrified that if he moved too suddenly Erik would kill him. The blonde boy looked viciously offended on his friend's behalf and jumped up off the couch to shout, "Who the hell are you?"

Erik gave the boy one of his more feral grins and replied, "I'm the one you staged an intervention against a few weeks ago."

That seemed to drain all the fight out of the blonde as he muttered, "Oh, well… shit."

Erik just quirked an eyebrow and moved into the kitchen, laying out his ingredients while the boys just kept staring at him. Erik had a long moment where he methodically arranged everything on the counter while he asked himself exactly how he wanted to respond to these children. He could drive them out with one glower, but Erik had a feeling that wherever Charles was he'd be less than pleased that Erik had emotionally destroyed the boys to get some privacy. So instead Erik casually laid out his ingredients while the boys kept staring at him before he finally looked up and asked, "Am I feeding you three as well?"

They all snuck looks at each other before the blonde asked, "Are we gonna end up dead if we stay?"

"That depends on whether or not any of you deliberately plan on pulling a stunt to ruin my time with Charles."

"Uh," the eldest boy, who seemed to have taken on the role of speaker replied, "No?"

"Question or answer?"

"Answer."

"Then it's up to Charles." 

Erik turned his back to the boys and started riffling through Charles' cupboards looking for the basics he'd seen there the first time Charles had made him breakfast. Despite being raised by people who were beautiful cooks, Erik had only six recipes to his name (every time he had managed to set a pan on fire when he was younger his mother reminded him that he was gifted in other ways). While Erik methodically diced tomatoes and onions he could hear the boys hissing behind him, having a terribly unsubtle discussion about whether or not to call Emma anyway, or if they should summon Marie from her apartment upstairs and let her handle things. Erik ignored their planning and kept his attention on the preparation, and then kept right on ignoring while Charles' door creaked open and several new voices joined the conspiracy. 

Erik determinedly didn't look up from his simple pasta and garlic bread until he heard Charles come in the door, pause, and inquire, "Is there something I forgot?"

There were eight people scattered around Charles' living room and none of them seemed willing to answer Charles' question, so Erik answered for them, "They seem to be operating under the presumption that if they left me alone in your apartment I would lurk in the shadows then pounce on you and suck out your soul, turning you into an mindless automaton in service to the man." Erik paused in the midst of mixing his just finished pasta, "Or turn you into my sex slave. None of them were willing to specify their concerns."

Out of the corner of his eye Erik could see Charles blush a bright scarlet before he cleared his throat and tried to pretend like he wasn't offset by the situation. "Yes, well. I refuse to comment on either option. And now, all of you out."

The blonde boy -- who over the course of the conversation Erik had discovered was named Alex -- jumped to his feet to object, but Erik interrupted, "Actually Charles, I made enough for all of them if you'd like to have company."

If Charles had it in him to actually get angry Erik would have been concerned about the glower Charles was giving him, but as it stood, it was just amusing. Charles dropped his bag by the door and shed his jacket before he stepped over to Erik and all but hissed, "No actually, company was not on the list of things of things I intended to be embracing this evening." 

Erik quirked an eyebrow, "Then perhaps you should've been here before the squatters took up residence in your living room." Erik pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Charles' mouth before he called out, "Dinner's ready." Charles grabbed Erik by the scruff of his shirt and pulled him back for a far more thorough reply. 

Erik immediately propped Charles up on the counter and returned the fervent kiss, reassuring Charles that in a few hours when there were no longer witnesses who not-so-secretly wanted him out of their lives they could 'embrace' all they wanted. Erik kissed Charles until a roll struck him in the side of the head. Erik pulled back and gave Marie a look that guaranteed he was not amused. She just smirked at him, "We're already running the risk of Emma's wrath by allowing you in Charles' personal space, if we let you go uninterrupted then she'll kill us all."

"That is a risk I'm willing to run." Erik replied. 

Sean snorted, "Seriously dude, some of us are trying to eat here."

Kitty smacked him on the back of the head, "Trying to eat food he made. Be nice."

While everyone dished up their own plates, Charles made polite introductions between Erik and everyone who'd turned up at the apartment while he'd been cooking. Marie, Erik had met already at his first appearance at Charles' apartment, and the quick kiss she pressed to Erik's cheek along with his smile in reply lessened everyone's tension, though Alex still looked like he was just waiting for Erik to do something despicable. Alex, Sean, and Armando lived in the apartment across the hall and apparently were fond of invading Charles' apartment with his spare key and making use of his ultimate cable package. Angel worked as a dancer (Erik didn't ask what kind) and a sometimes model and seemed intent on trying to get Armando to pay attention to her, which wasn't going very well. Piotr was a fellow painter (Charles whispered with pride that he'd sponsored the young man and believed him brilliant beyond words), and along with him had come Illyana (an actress and Piotr's sister), and Piotr's girlfriend, Kitty, who looked as ill-fitted to the situation as Erik. 

The youths spread out through Charles' living space, most of the boys going back to the terrible movie they'd been watching when Erik arrived while Piotr settled down at the counter with Illyana and Kitty to actually chat with Charles. Well, Piotr and Illyana chatted with Charles in their halting English while Kitty turned her focus straight to Erik and pleasantly demanded, "How did you meet Charles?"

Erik paused to finish chewing on his garlic bread before he replied, "I'm his legal counsel."

Kitty paused, "Isn't that bad?"

"Being a lawyer?" Erik replied, deliberately misinterpreting the question in the hope she would be embarrassed and let it go.

Kitty however, refused to be put off. "Dating him while you're his lawyer."

"Under certain circumstances. None of which apply here."

"How do you know?"

"Why are you so concerned?" Erik asked.

Kitty looked at Erik like he was an idiot and replied, "Charles set me up with Piotr."

"Ah." Erik grunted. "This group's incessant need to fuss over one another."

Kitty snorted, "There are worse things."

Erik braced his arms on the counter and leaned over, waiting for Kitty to join him before he murmured, "If you people hadn't all arrived to fuss, I would have Charles in bed right now. So no, this is the worst thing."

Kitty went a fantastic shade of red while Erik turned his attention back to Charles. Piotr was busy explaining his latest piece to Charles in a mixture of English, Russian, and hand gestures, while Illyana sat there idly eating her noodles and trying not to look left out. Erik attempted a consoling smile, a particularly strange gesture for his face, and commented in slightly accented Russian, "For two men so concerned with images they certainly do talk a lot."

Illyana smiled, almost unsure whether a laugh would be appropriate here or not. Erik continued, "I'm tempted to make them play a game of pictionary. Let Piotr describe his painting and see if Charles can reproduce it."

Illyana laughed and replied in Russian, "I have suggested that before. A joint showing with them both and Steven. We describe to them what they are to put on canvas and then we see how each is different." 

"Then each of them would waste all their time trying to convince the other two why theirs is terrible and the other two are masterpieces." Erik chuckled.

Illyana giggled and looked over at the two artists, who were both staring at Erik like he was inexplicable. Erik quirked an eyebrow in question and Charles stuttered out, "I was going to show Piotr some of my latest drafts. I thought you might like to see."

Erik smirked for a moment, knowing full well that Charles didn't quite know what to do with himself at this new foreign language from Erik before he replied, "Sounds lovely."

Illyana was apparently more gifted at reading subtlety than her brother and pulled away Piotr's attention for a moment so Charles could have a bit of privacy. Charles grabbed Erik by the shirt front and hauled him close, whispering in his ear, "I have never wanted to bed you as much as I do at this moment."

Erik's grin turned feral and the kiss he pressed to Charles' lips was deceptively gentle, save for the hidden grip he had high on Charles' thigh, keeping the other man close. Erik pulled back before he could cede to the urge to shout at everyone to get the hell out of the apartment. Charles glowered at him for a moment, but then plastered on a bright and pretending-to-be-not-at-all-frustrated grin and led Piotr over to the corner of the living room where Charles' art supplies lived, that no one all night had ventured to touch. 

Erik followed along after the two artists with his hands in his pockets and a smug grin on his face, only to stop when he saw what was currently on Charles' easel. 

The painting was black and grey, with Erik clearly defined at the center of it, though blurred ever so slightly for plausible deniability. it was a moment from earlier in the afternoon, a few breaths after Charles had slid off his lap. Erik was sprawled back on the couch, puffing out a sigh of frustration and running his fingers through his hair while he looked at anything other than a rumpled and almost willing Charles. 

Charles had caught the moment and put it on canvas. Erik's collar open and his shirt rumpled from the grip of Charles' hands. All the tension reduced to black and grey. 

Charles had painted him.

Charles had captured him in the moment after sliding off his lap. 

And Erik couldn't take it anymore.

Charles was giving Piotr the grand tour of his current pile of sketches, but he paused when he realized Erik wasn't trailing behind making subtly dirty commentary. He turned back and saw Erik staring mindlessly at the easel and only then did Charles remember what he had resting there. Charles slid up beside Erik and murmured, "You don't mind, do you? It's just, you looked lovely in the office today and I wanted to-" Erik cut Charles off by kissing him. 

Charles let out a tiny squeak before he sunk into the motion. Erik pulled Charles closer, burying one hand in the man's hair while the other pulled Charles closer by the hip. Charles gripped his hands in the back of Erik's shirt and started to pull it out of Erik's trousers, pressing cold fingers to the heat at the small of Erik's back. 

A combination of Marie's giggles and Alex's gagging was what pulled them out of the kiss before it got even more heated. Charles buried his head in Erik's chest for a moment before pulling back to shout, "Everybody out!"

"We're not leaving so you can sleep with him!" Alex snapped.

"Then you're more than welcome to sit in the living room while I have sex with my boyfriend." Charles retorted, dragging Erik by the hand to the stairs. "Armando, be a dear and lock up for me." Charles shouted over his shoulder while Erik stumbled up the stairs in his haste. 

"Charles!" Alex shouted, but Piotr hefted the boy over his shoulder and carried him out the door with the rest of the group. 

Charles yanked Erik through the bedroom door and slammed it closed behind them, pressing Erik against the door and stripping him of his jacket. In between frantic kisses Erik muttered, "Should I be nervous that they seemed to be gifted at fleeing your apartment?"

"I like to throw them out when I'm painting. You're just a different sort of canvas."

Erik grunted out something that could be portrayed as agreement because at that moment Charles started working on his belt. Erik somehow managed to exert a little control over the situation and gripped Charles by the wrist, stopping him. Charles was against taking that as an answer and pressed slow, sucking kisses to Erik's exposed chest. Erik thumped his head back against the door, relishing the feeling for a minute before he twisted around, using his weight to press Charles against the door and stop his advance.

Charles all but keened at being refused, and pressed him with a hot kiss as conciliation. "Charles," Erik groaned, "are you sure?"

Charles paused and looked up at Erik, trying for an incredulous expression that was ruined by the blown state of his pupils. "Am I sure?" he croaked.

"Yes." Erik grunted. "I don't want to be a mistake."

Charles grabbed Erik by the hair and hauled him closer, slamming their mouths together with a fierceness that Erik had thought beyond him. "Erik, you are an absolute idiot."

"Is that a yes, then?"

Charles rolled his eyes and all but jumped into Erik's arms, leaning back to drag Erik to the bed with him. Which was answer enough.


End file.
